After the Curtain Falls
by ADiamondoraButterfly
Summary: Having done tons of research on 1870's France, I'm convinced a man in Raoul's position wouldn't have actually been able to marry Christine. So here is my best guess about what would REALLY have happened after the events of POTO. E/C (ish); anti- C/R. WARNING: Permanently unfinished. However, at the end I put up a summary of what was going to happen, so you won't be left hanging.
1. Chapter 1

_When they took leave of each other by the roadside, Raoul, pressing a kiss on Christine's trembling hand, said: "Mademoiselle, I shall never forget you!" And he went away regretting his words, for he knew that Christine could not be the wife of the Vicomte de Chagny._  
-Gaston Leroux, _Le Fantôme de l'Opéra_

 _"Whatever happened, your position in society forbade me to contemplate the possibility of ever marrying you." -_ Christine, _Le Fantome de l'Opéra_

 **Christine, 1910** I will not review here the events that took place at the Opera de Paris in 1884. I have no wish to dwell on that part of my history, which has become a dark stain on my memory. And you are certainly already familiar with those events, at least in the general details, for to my embarrassment they inspired several plays, a lurid novel that has been translated into several languages, and one particularly garish English operetta. I shall instead explain what happened afterwords, for that story has never been told in its entirety. After everything was over, Raoul and I were eager to leave Paris, which I think you will understand. The city- one region of it in particular- held too many painful memories for us both.

We traveled by train to Orléans- the de Chagnys' main residence was located just outside the city. Raoul's parents, the Comte and Comtesse de Chagny, were away traveling for the next few weeks, and Raoul planned to tell them of our engagement as soon as they returned. In the meantime, he stayed in their château, and for me he found a very comfortable apartment in an elegant quarter of the city.

I will be honest: I would not have minded living with him just then, even though we were not married. In fact, though you may perhaps blame me for this, I would have preferred it. I had an excuse: after coming so close to losing him (or seeming to be so close to it, at least; I am now no longer convinced that Erik could ever really have murdered him, for reasons which I shall explain in due course), I would have welcomed the reassurance of having him beside me. However, Raoul insisted on keeping us apart at night to preserve my reputation. The fact that a foreign chorus girl's virtue, or lack thereof, would have been of no consequence to anyone else did not seem to have occurred to him. Though I missed him when we were apart, I was grateful for this delicacy on his part.  
Though we both found the city agreeable (if a little dull to my mind after the energy of Paris), over the next few days our mood was one of anxiety. I wore no ring, and we spoke to no one of our engagement. This was Raoul's idea; he said that any mention of it might drive the ghost to revenge. No longer did he doubt that he represented a real danger to us.

I ordered my trousseau and consulted with a dressmaker, but all was done with the utmost secrecy. This state of affairs continued until one evening when I found an unexpected letter waiting for me at my apartment. Forwarded to me by Madame Giry, it had originated in Istanbul, of all places. Though it was unsigned, there could be no doubt as to the writer.

 _Christine, my angel of music,_

 _I have no knowledge of your present whereabouts, but I assumed Madame Giry would, so I have entrusted this letter to her in the hopes of its finding its way to you. Please do not be alarmed that it contains any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those wishes which I once expressed. I know only too well that after what occurred between us, any hope of that kind on my part is impossible. To emphasize this, I am not including a return address. No reply of any kind is necessary. I only wish to offer my thanks. First I must thank you and your fiancé for not denouncing me to the police._

Raoul and I had agreed to tell the police that the ghost drowned in the immense lake beneath the opera house. Conveniently, they soon afterwards found a body on the shore of the lake. Any fool could have seen that it clearly belonged to one of the Communards who had been massacred in the cellars of the opera house earlier that year. It was on the opposite side of the cellars from the ghost's lair, and it was far more decayed than it could have been if it belonged to someone who had died that month. But I believe that the police were looking for an excuse to say the affair was over and done with. They couldn't have enjoyed sorting through a case where most of the 'evidence' consisted of questionable accounts of ghosts from drunk stagehands and superstitious artists. But I digress. The letter continued:

 _...and most of all, to thank you for the mercy and tenderness you showed me on our last night together in the opera house. Because of your actions, I realized I did not have to remain, as you so eloquently put it, a pitiful creature of darkness. I have begun a new existence. It is you, and none but you, who have brought about this transformation. The love and mercy you showed have redeemed me. I am no longer the Opera Ghost. I will not resort to blackmailing or extortion any longer. I am making every effort to be, henceforth, honest and upright- "As shrewd as a serpent, but as harmless as a dove". I have done all I can to reverse the damage the Opera Ghost caused. I returned, with interest, the money I stole from Mssrs Andre and Firmin. Having discharged my debt to them, I was able to leave Paris in peace, with the hope of starting over. Since a normal, straightforward, regular existence is forever barred to me because of what I am, I pray that God will instead allow me to redeem myself through my music, the sole gift He has seen fit to give me. Through that, I can make my way in the world honestly. Through that, I hope to give something to the human race that will atone for my past actions. Perhaps that is possible- painting is how Caravaggio endeavored to atone for murdering an innocent man. Few who have seen his work would say his existence was not justified by it. Therefore, if I have good fortune, I hope you may perhaps hear my music someday in the future. But you will not see me again. I cannot forgive myself for my abominable treatment of you. I believe your Vicomte, on the other hand, is a good and generous man. You have a fine life ahead of you, exactly as you deserve, and I am too glad of that to want to interfere in any way._

 _I will only add,_

 _God bless you._

By the beginning of the third paragraph, tears had begun to well in my eyes, and when I finished, I was weeping openly. I had not trusted this ghost's promise to leave us alone when it had been made in the midst of all our furious emotions, but this measured, thoughtful response did a great deal towards restoring my sense of security. But it also filled me with a renewed sense of terrible pity for the ghost, and an intense sense of loss that I would never hear his music again. On the whole, I was happy, but it was not the sort of simple, pleasant happiness that is easy to bear. It was some time before I could compose myself enough to go to Raoul and tell him the good news.

After that, we slowly became more at ease. We ventured to be seen together in public occasionally, and amongst those few friends he felt he could trust to be discreet, Raoul began to refer to me as his fiancée. We decided on a wedding date early in the next year. Raoul was determined that, despite my humble origins, the wedding should happen with the full pomp and circumstance that would normally be attendant upon a marriage into one of the finest families in the land. I was to be a viscountess, after all- la Vicomtesse de Chagny. The ceremony, he insisted, would be at nowhere else than the Église de la Madeleine in Paris. This imposing building, situated in the Faubourg St.-Honoré, the most expensive part of the city, was where France's most illustrious society weddings took place. For our honeymoon, we would make a grand tour of Europe, before settling in the de Chagny residence and, I hoped, soon beginning our family. The Ghost was right- I had a wonderful life ahead of me. It offered not only security but comfort, and what was more important, the love of a caring and devoted husband. In addition, I could rest in the assurance that my children would never want for anything in life. Very few girls- especially those who had endured calamities like what I had- could ever hope to be so happily settled.

During that period of my life, my heart much more frequently swelled with thankfulness than sank with dejection. But in the midst of all this calm, after evenings spent strolling with Raoul on the beautiful banks of the Loire river or reading contentedly alone, something began to happen. I had always been the sort of person who had vivid dreams at night: dreams many-coloured, agitated, full of the ideal, the stirring, the stormy. But what bewildered me now was that in these dreams, amidst unusual scenes, charged with adventure, with agitating risk, I began meeting with the ghost. It happened again and again, nearly every night. "The nights are ours," he said once. "They will always be ours."

With each of these shadow meetings, the unbearable, agonizing joy of hearing his voice would be renewed, with all its force and fire. Then I would awake and recall where I was. I would rise up on my comfortable bed, trembling and quivering; and then the still, dark night witnessed the convulsion of bewilderment, and heard the burst of passion. By eight o'clock the next morning I was tranquil, settled, prepared for the steady and pleasant activities of the day.

Who will blame me? Many, no doubt. I shall be called hysterical. Perhaps I was. Those strange dreams made no sense even to me. A few weeks ago I was sure all I wanted was to never see the Ghost again. Against all odds, that wish had been granted. I should have been thankful. Instead, I wanted something that was beyond my reach, and I did not even know what. Before I had even begun to resolve these troubling thoughts, however, events arose which pushed them all from my mind.

 _End of Chapter 1_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

After Raoul informed his parents of our engagement, all seemed well at first. His mother, the Comtesse, sent me a beautifully worded letter requesting that I do them the honor of calling on them next week at Chateau de Chagny. However, I could not help but be uneasy at the thought of our meeting. It was not every day that a chorus girl was invited to the ancestral home of one of the most illustrious families in France. Adding to my anxiety was the fact that, while they had not forbidden Raoul to marry me, they had never gone so far as to say that they approved of our engagement. I was sure that part of the reason for the invitation was so they could assess me and form an opinion of me.

A few days passed. I tormented myself with thinking of all the ways I could make a fool of myself in front of my future parents-in-law. By the time I was finally settled in Raoul's carriage, on my way to meet the family, I was practically sick with nervous anticipation.

When he told me we'd turned onto de Chagny lands, I was sure we must be almost there, but we rode for several minutes without catching a glimpse of any buildings. I was tempted to ask whether we'd reach the house that same year. _The de Chagnys must own half the county_! I thought breathlessly.

Finally, after we'd turned a corner and driven up a wide avenue lined with perfectly spaced chestnut trees, I caught my first glimpse of the chateau. I could not contain a gasp. This was not merely an elaborate country manor- it was nothing short of a palace. I had not yet caught my breath again before we drew up in front of this vast edifice and a servant opened the carriage door. I was dimly affair of Raoul springing out first and gallantly helping me down the steps after him. He seemed relatively at ease, but my mind was still whirling.

For some reason I had pictured his parents being there to greet us. But I realized now that was absurd. A count and countess would never have come to their front door to greet a casual afternoon guest, especially someone as insignificant as me. Instead we were welcomed by a towering footman, in a uniform more lavishly embroidered than the most elaborate of my gowns. He silently led us up a flight of stairs and through a vast entry hall.

Once my eyes had adjusted from the bright afternoon sunlight, I found that the interior of the chateau was just as impressive as the outside. The footman deposited us in an enormous, gilded salon that could have come straight out of the Louvre. I had always thought the legendary opulence of the opera house had spoiled me to the beauty of other fine buildings, but I must not have been as used to luxury as I thought. I could not resist gazing around. The walls were covered in emerald silk damask and edged with gilt moulding. The ceiling boasted a splendid fresco of a sky filled with handsome gods and goddesses that appeared, through some impressive feat of trompe-l'-oeil, to be emerging from the plaster.

The footman announced our presence and evaporated. Raoul put his arm around me and guided me forward, and I caught sight of his parents, the Comte and Comtesse, waiting for us on a vast sofa in front of an ornate marble fireplace.

His father, Comte Louis Georges Philippe de Chagny, rose as we came forward. The count was in his late fifties at least, but his bearing was still proud and straight, and his powerful frame gave the impression of great strength. The de Chagny signet ring, symbol of unimaginable power, graced his left hand. His face was not unkind, but there was something in his expression and the way he carried himself that suggested he was used to having his orders obeyed without question.

Next to him was his wife, Raoul's mother, the Comtesse Catherine Augustine Moerogis de la Martynière de Chagny. She was a tall, regal woman of splendid Grecian beauty. I saw that Raoul had inherited his blond hair and china-blue eyes from her. Her expression was grave, her bearing majestic. But when she saw her son, she jumped up and ran him at once, kissing him on the cheek and clasping his hand in both of hers. Tender affection radiated from her face.

"My son, I am so very glad to see you!" she cried. "Your mother missed you cruelly. I know I have said it before, but I do wish you had come with us. The pleasures of travel are really so much more enjoyable when one does not have to be separated from one's children. Now that you have left the Navy, I do not see what could be keeping you here." Her prattle was almost endearing, and quite at odds with her imposing appearance.

"I apologize," Raoul said, as soon as he could get a word in edgewise. He looked amused by her enthuasiasm, but at the same time, I could see on his face how much he loved her. "I would have enjoyed seeing the lochs with you very much. But I was kept here by some… other pressing concerns." He was careful not to mention the Ghost. I had a feeling the de Chagnys would not appreciate such a story. "Which brings me to the reason for this visit. Father, Mother, may I present Mademoiselle Christine Daae."

For the first time, his parents' eyes turned to me. The warmth drained from the Comtesse's eyes. Unsure what to do, I made a small curtsy.

"We played together as children," Raoul said, coming to stand by me, "During the summers when I stayed with Aunt Moerogis-de-la-Martynière in Lannion. We did not see each other for years. I thought I would never find her again. But now we have been reunited after all these years."

If he'd expected this story to move them, he was disappointed. They merely regarded me blankly. I was familiar with Parisian sang-froid- in fact, I had probably acquired a touch of it myself after living in the snobby Opéra district- but this was a different thing entirely. The silence seemed to go on for an eternity. I was beginning to feel faint when, at last, the Comte spoke.

"Mademoiselle, I'm quite sure your name is familiar to me," he said in a deep, cultured voice. "And not just from what Raoul has told us of you."

"She's been in the papers," Raoul said. "She's performed at the Paris Opéra. With a voice like hers, she could have been the next Adelina Patti."

I smiled at his lavish praise. Though he didn't know the first thing about music, it was touching all the same. But I could see by his parents' faces that my artistic accomplishments were not the sort of credentials they had been hoping for.

The couple met each other's eyes. Some invisible signal seemed to pass between them, and the Comtesse advanced toward me.

"My dear Mademoiselle," she said, gliding over to me. "This is a splendid day, is it not? I think a stroll in the grounds would be a lovely idea, don't you?"  
"Why, yes," I said hesitantly.

"Excellent. We have a pretty little patch of wilderness near here. I think you would find the hermitage a very pleasing prospect. Will you do me the honor of accompanying me?"

I was bewildered by this sudden resolution, but I of course agreed to the suggestion. I was desperate for their approval, especially the Comtesse's. Raoul worshipped his mother- it was essential that she like me. If she'd asked me to dance a jig, I probably would have.

The Comtesse bid me wait in the entry hall while the her ladies' maid collected her hat, gloves, and Japanese silk parasol. I was glad I had brought my own parasol, even if it was a rather shabby thing, composed of flimsy paper. I seldom bothered with it- normally I found my favorite old broad-brimmed hat quite adequate for the task of shielding my face from the sun- but I'd guessed that the Comtesse was the sort of woman who placed great importance on such refinements. It seemed my guess had been correct.

Once the Comtesse was armed with all the accessories she deemed necessary to face the open air, we exited the chateau. For a few minutes, we ambled through the grounds. It was indeed a splendid afternoon, graced with a light, pleasant breeze and a clear blue sky. The wilderness she'd referred to was just as beautiful as she'd suggested, and the hermitage a very pleasing prospect. Still, it was impossible to lose myself in the delights of nature at a time like this. I was feeling deeply awkward. The Comtesse had not said a word, and the occasional pleasant remarks I ventured on the beauty of the grounds were sounding more and more foolish. I wished badly that Raoul had come along. The thought occurred to me that she'd left him behind deliberately. I felt a twinge of fright as I wondered what she wanted to say to me that he wasn't supposed to hear.

At length, the Comtesse came to what must have been the point of this little excursion.

"Mademoiselle, my son has told us very little about you," she said without preamble. "In fact, I am afraid it is my duty to warn you that you are not on my list of young ladies who would be an appropriate choice to become the next Vicomtesse de Chagny."

"Your list?" I said before I could stop myself. Raoul had never said anything about a list. Perhaps he didn't know it existed...

"Yes," the Comtesse said. "It has been drawn up with the utmost consideration, of course. But it can be amended. If there is a good enough reason."

"Oh," was all I could manage.

"Tell me, how old are you?" she asked with preamble.

So began my interrogation.

"Twenty," I said.

"A very good age for a young lady to be married at," she remarked decisively.

"Oh... thank you," I said, wondering if that was the right reply.

"In fact, there's nothing wrong with marrying even earlier than that," she added. "People may call me old-fashioned for saying that, but what else is a girl going to do with those years, besides getting into mischief?"

I thought wistfully of my fleeting singing career. I wouldn't particularly miss the brief spell of fame I'd earned, but I would miss the music. "Nothing of value," I said heavily.

"Yes. Quite." After a pause she went on. "You may wonder what the point is of all these questions. But my husband and I have brought Raoul up with the utmost care. As our only son, you can imagine how precious he is to us. We want only the best for him."

"That is just as it should be," I said.

"Good, I am glad you take the proper view."

"Thank you," I replied in a small voice.

"Of course, one must be careful," she added. "Raoul is lacking in common sense. He is very young, and entirely too soft-willed and impressionable."

Soft-willed? She didn't know the man who had risked his life fighting the treacherous Ghost to save me. However, she went on before I could reply, and I didn't dare interrupt.

"It is fortunate that he has his parents to guide him," she said.

"Yes, that is a blessing," I agreed. "I envy him in that respect."

"What?"

"I lost my mother when I was six, and my father soon after that," I said.

"I am sorry to hear that." The way she said it made it sound like a criticism.

I swallowed. "It will be wonderful to be a part of a family again," I ventured. "I've almost forgotten what it's like."

"Hm."

This frosty reply was not conducive to further remarks on my part, and since she did not seem inclined to say anything more at the moment, we again walked for awhile in silence.

"You have a curious name," she said at length. "Daen?"

"Daae," I corrected gingerly.

"I see. And that is of what origin?" she asked.

"It is of Norwegian origin originally, Madame la Comtesse, but I am Swedish by birth."

I prepared myself for the sort of interested inquiries that usually followed this disclosure. But her reply was quite different.

"Well!" she said. "That's very... intriguing. Still, it's better than Spanish, I suppose. Certainly better than Prussian. Or American." She shivered delicately. "Perhaps you've noticed _that_ alarming trend."

"What trend?" I asked, though I was not sure I wanted to hear her thoughts on the subject.

"So many of our well-born young men these days have gotten themselves into trouble with money and so they're marrying manufacturing heiresses from places like Ohio-" She pronounced it _OH-i-o_ , which amused me, and accompanied it with a disgusted little wince- "and God knows where just because they've managed to get their claws on a bit of money. They're letting in people who don't have the slightest idea about our heritage- about what families like this have spend centuries working to build. The Gironde is being taken over by Americans and Protestants and Jews*."

Any charm she had held for me evaporated. "I am a Protestant," I retorted hotly. "I belong to the Church of Sweden. I suppose now you will want to banish me to OH-i-o?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "That can be remedied."

"Remedied?" I said, outraged. "It isn't an illness."

She did not deign to reply to this objection. "If you marry my son, you will convert, of course," she said.

This startled me. Raoul had never mentioned that. Perhaps I should have expected it, but in the midst of my happiness with him, it hadn't occurred to me that I would have to turn my back on the faith my parents had passed on to me. In addition, until twenty years before it had been illegal to leave the Church of Sweden. The thought of abandoning it horrified me. I wasn't sure I could. With difficulty, I restrained myself from making any further reply.

"Besides, you sound quite Parisian," she went on. "That is a mercy."

That was gratifying. I had been particularly careful of my diction when speaking to her. "I have lived here since I was six years old," I said. "I think I know French better than Swedish now."

"Well. That doesn't make you one of us." She paused. "Were your family very active in Stockholm society? A cousin of mine married a daughter of the von Platen zu Hallermund family. They originated in Pomerania but a branch became part of the Swedish nobility in... 1751, I believe it was. Perhaps you are acquainted with them?"

I had to stifle a laugh at the thought. The von Platen zu Hallermunds were one of the most illustrious families in Sweden. "Good Heavens, no. We moved in very different circles. We lived in a little market-town near Uppsala." I could see at once that she had never heard of Uppsala.

"I see," she said. "And your family were…?"

I wasn't sure how to reply. "My father's name was Isak Daae**. My mother's name was Cathrine Christina Månsdotter." How strange to think that my mother and this harsh, imperious woman, so different from each other, had shared an almost identical name. "They married in Uppsala. They were in their twenties when I was born. I don't have any brothers or sisters." What precisely did she want to know?

"Yes, yes, that's all very well," she said, brushing my reply aside with a wave of her hand. "But your father was what, exactly?"

"Pardon; I don't understand."

"His profession," she said.

"He was a violinist, Madame la Comtesse."

"Good God," she breathed. I felt a thrill of outrage. I had not imagined that a man as kind and tender as Raoul could have parents like this. But then perhaps I should not have been surprised. I have often observed that the most tender-hearted children have the harshest parents. Nature can be cruel that way.

"He was a great man," I said hotly. "He is buried in Père-Lachaise Cemetery, alongside other such humble personnages as Molière and Chopin. He used to play before royalty."

"Playing before members of good society, Mademoiselle, is quite different from being a part of it."

Torn between my affection for Raoul and my respect for my father's memory, I with difficulty managed to suppress a thrill of rage. I wasn't in the habit of letting people insult my family unchallenged.

"What, precisely, did you do after you lost your parents?" the Comtesse asked. "You had to make your own way in the world, I suppose?"

I knew what she was really asking- if I had money. "Yes," I said. "I studied at the Conservatoire de Music, but I did not do well there, so I trained with the ballet company at the Paris Opera."

Her brow furrowed. "You became… a _dancer_?"

"Yes."

She stiffened. "Raoul never mentioned _that_."

"Then I found an excellent vocal instructor- or rather it might be more accurate to say he found me- so I became a singer again," I added. I couldn't resist adding, "I was fortunate enough to enjoy some significant success." It didn't help.

"There seems to be no end to your talents, Mademoiselle Daae," the Comtesse said. Her sarcasm was not lost on me.

Suddenly she rounded on me, blocking my path. I stopped abruptly. She stared at me, her eyes seeming to bore into me. "Mademoiselle, you will permit me to speak frankly. I must confess to being somewhat astonished, after all you have just told me, that you think it a good idea to marry my son. You are a foreigner who comes from indifferent circumstances. In addition, your rightful place is on the stage. You are, by your own description, a young lady of uncertain position and reputation."

"How dare you?" I gasped. "Nothing I have said could be construed in such a way! I am a virtuous woman! You may ask anyone who is acquainted with me- they will speak for my character!"

"It does not matter, Mademoiselle, how virtuous you may be in private, if you do not take the trouble to safeguard your public reputation." The Comtesse paused. "I had not imagined you would be so selfish as to wish to ally yourself to my son when such a connection would materially damage others' regard for him- and moreover when you can give him nothing in this world."

This wounded me far more deeply than the aspersions she had cast on my character. "I can give him my devotion and my love."

"Such sentiments amount to little in the long run," she said. "There are other, more suitable matrimonial candidates who could give him their devotion- in addition to which they could, unlike you, offer him connections which would be greatly to his material advantage. Raoul is destined for greatness, and they could help him achieve it. Mere romantic infatuation is too cheap and fleeting a thing to sacrifice that for, although at present he may be too short-sighted to see that. If you truly love him and wish to see him ultimately happy, you should release him."

"Why should I do such a thing, when it would make him unhappy?" I said. "He is in love with me."

"He may imagine so, but it is only a childish inclination."

"How can you say that?" I gasped.

"He said himself that his feelings for you were decided when he was a boy," she said. "What can a child know about such things? Can the feelings and ideas of a boy of six years old be trusted when it comes to selecting a suitable helpmate?"

I didn't know how to reply.

"As for your finding him again now," she went on, "I consider it too convenient to be a coincidence."

"Madame la Comtesse, I must beg you not to insinuate such insulting-"

"-I insinuate nothing," she said. "The facts are enough. You appear again just as he is on the verge of becoming a very influential member of society."

"That is a coincidence," I said. "I wasn't thinking about anything like that. I didn't have time to form such schemes. As a matter of fact, I was far too busy worrying about-"

"-You have drawn him in with the memories you shared- made him forget what he owes to himself and his family," she charged on, heedless to my objections. "It was unfair to him for you to do so, when a connection with you would disgrace him in the eyes of everyone of importance."

"It would be unfair not to keep the promise I have made to him," I said. "Besides, surely the persons you refer to would be sensible enough not to snub him for such an absurd reason. Madame, I love Raoul and he loves me- surely that should be the matter of main 'importance' to any mother-"

"-But I am not just any mother, Mademoiselle!" For a moment she lost her composure. "I am the Comtesse de Chagny! Do you have any idea what that means? You can hardly think I would allow my dearest boy, the heir to one of the oldest titles in France and untold responsibility, to throw himself away on a girl who can give him no advantage in the world."

"If Raoul does not object to my prospects, then your objections are hardly relevant," I said before I could stop myself.

Her face hardened. "On the contrary. My son takes the opinion of his parents very seriously- or he will. Do not imagine that your aspiration to become the Vicomtesse de Chagny will ever be gratified."

"My only 'aspiration' is to make Raoul happy," I said. "You give me credit for a great deal more ambition and cunning than I possess, Madame."

"You may demur all you like," the Comtesse said. "It will do you no good. I will still carry my point." She treated me to one last threatening stare. Her gaze was truly menacing. Her eyes were the same color as Raoul's, but had not a trace of their gentleness. For a moment, I was reminded that this was a woman with one of the largest personal fortunes in France at her disposal, with holdings all over Europe, a woman who had the ear of princesses and queens. I felt suddenly terrified that I had dared to cross swords with her. What a fool I was.

"Good morning, Mademoiselle," she said. "I will call one of our carriages to take you home." Then she turned and stormed back toward the chateau, her every movement showing I was forbidden to follow.

I was left standing alone.

*Actual quote from actual countess of the era's diary

**Leroux never tells us what Daae's first name was.

 _End of Chapter 2_

N _otes: Contains Pride and Prejudice_ and _The Importance of Being Earnest_ references.


	3. Chapter 3

_Update December 20th, 2015: Some minor alterations (no significant changes to the plot.)  
_

Raoul emerged from the chateau a few minutes later. It was all I could do to keep from throwing myself into his arms and weeping. I was exhausted with worry.  
He was astonished when I told him about the things his mother had said. "I was sure they'd like you," he said. "Who could object to you?" But he believed me, which I was grateful for.

He held me in his arms for the whole carriage ride home.  
When we arrived at my appartement, he stayed just long enough to make sure that I was settled and had a cup of hot tea to drink.  
"Must you go so soon?" I said pleadingly, as he moved toward the door.  
He sighed. "I have to go back. They want to 'speak to me'."  
"Oh, Heavens," I said weakly. "Perhaps you should go in a suit of armor."  
He smiled and kissed me goodbye. "I shall come by in the morning."  
"Good night, then, darling. And good luck," I added wistfully.

When my doorbell rang the next morning, I was certain it would be him. I was surprised, therefore, to find his mother standing there.  
She swept through the door without waiting for me to say hello. "Good day, Mademoiselle."  
"How did you find me here?" I asked.  
"This appartement belongs to my family," she said, settling herself on a sofa as though she owned it- which, I recollected now, she technically did.  
"So it does," I said, embarrassed. "I assure you, I am deeply grateful-"  
"You have been living here at Raoul's expense," she said, her words heavy with meaning.  
I looked up, incensed. "As I told you yesterday, Madame la Comtesse, I have done nothing I need be ashamed of!"  
"So you have said. But whether that is true is not the concern. You do not seem to realize what the problem is. It is not merely virtue which matters, but the appearance of it. Not merely what you have done, but what you appear to have done. A lady must not, by any carelessness, leave herself open to impertinent remarks. A well-brought-up young woman would have been more aware of that, Mademoiselle."  
She was right. I looked away, embarrassed.

"This is precisely the sort of thing that shows how unprepared you are for any kind of place in the aristocracy," she said. "You would never be happy or at ease living in good society."

"I thought Raoul was coming to see me this morning," I said to change the subject.

"Perhaps. I don't know what his intention was. He is with his father at the moment, however."

"Does Raoul know you are here?" I asked.  
"No," she said. At least she was honest. "He does not."  
"Why have you come?"  
"I have tried to persuade my son to end this disgraceful engagement, and he continues to defy his parents' wishes," she said.  
I smiled.  
"Therefore," she went on, "I have decided to place the matter in your hands."  
"I don't understand what you think that will accomplish," I said. "You won't have any success with me. You have heard my views on the matter. I will not amend them."  
"I think you may," she said. "After all, despite your unfortunate... position in life, I have come to believe you do care for Raoul- in your own way- and wish to do the right thing by him."  
"You are too gracious," I said acidly.  
The Comtesse reacted to this remark only by lifting her elegantly modeled chin, which she wore at an unusually elevated angle to begin with, still higher. She eyed me for a moment from beneath heavy, scornful lids before deigning to continue. "After you left yesterday, having refused to agree to give up your engagement to Raoul, his father told him- and we intend to continue with this resolution- that he will never see one sou of his inheritance if he marries against our wishes."  
I stifled a gasp. How could anyone hate a person so much that they were willing to bankrupt their only son to keep him away from her?  
"However, we have since changed our minds. I realize now this was the wrong approach," the Comtesse said.  
"Oh, indeed?" I said scornfully.  
"What I mean to say is that threatening Raoul with disinheritance was ineffective. He said he would simply return to his career with the navy if necessary. I realize now I should have expected just such a reply. After all, my husband and I have brought up our son to be honorable. He will not throw a lady aside after he has made her a promise of marriage."  
"Of course he will not," I said. "He is a good man. I could have told you you were wasting your time."  
The Comtesse sprang up, her eyes flashing. "Do not lecture me about my son's character, Mademoiselle, when it is I who made him what he is!"

 _He didn't get his good character from you,_ I wanted to say. But I couldn't. It astonished me how defenseless I felt when I couldn't use the kind of scathing reply I usually resorted to.

The Comtesse began stalking up and down in front of me, putting me to mind of a caged panther I had seen at the Jardin des Animaux. "If he resumes his post in the military," she went on after a moment, "His salary would be meager at best."  
"I do not think it would remain low for-ever," I said. "After all, he distinguished himself greatly when he was in the navy before. And even if it is low, as long as he does not mind, I do not." For an instant, I pictured my life with Raoul if he were a humble naval officer. I found I liked the prospect much better. I would not have to be a part of high society. I would never have to plan garden parties and charity balls, and play the part of the smiling hostess, gracious and charming and gay from morning to night.  
Perhaps I could even return to music… "I don't care about money or connections or fortune," I finished. "I shall be just as happy with Raoul without them."  
The Comtesse pursed her lips. "I thought you would say as much. You have already demonstrated your high-handed resolution to remain ignorant of the more inconvenient realities of life. Therefore, I want you to consider the following." She swallowed and looked away for a moment. "It pains me greatly to have come to this," she went on at last, meeting my eyes once more. "I assure you, I did not arrive at this resolution lightly. But I am bound to tell you: if you and Raoul do not end your engagement, and if he does not swear to his parents that he will marry a well-born young lady suitable to be the next Vicomtesse de Chagny, his father and I have decided that we will never see him again."  
I froze. All the color and life seemed to drain out of the room. My entire life seemed concentrated in that woman's words.  
"His aunts, sisters, and cousins have written to us to second this resolution," she went on. "No one in our family will ever have anything to do with him again. We will not speak to him. We will not answer his letters. We certainly will not let him or his children into our homes. His name would never be mentioned by any of us."  
I stared at her in horror. Images filled my head of Raoul cut off from his family, lost and alone, as I had once been. It was unbearable.  
"And I assure you, most of his friends will shrewdly decide it is better to stay away from him after that, too," the Comtesse went on. "They will not risk being made into pariahs by associating with one. Do you understand the implications of what I have told you, Mademoiselle?"  
I understood perfectly. I hope the reader will forgive the hackneyed phrase when I say I felt as though I had been stabbed in the heart. I know of no other way to describe what I felt in that moment.  
For I could not marry Raoul. I could not risk him ending up alone as I had been.  
"You cannot be in earnest," I pleaded, feeling tears sting my eyes.  
"I assure you I am. I would not speak lightly about a matter like this."  
Suddenly, and to my embarrassment, I began to sob. "Madame la Comtesse, I beg you to reconsider!"  
"That is impossible," she said. In her cold expression, I saw a finality that would admit no argument.  
I saw my defeat.  
Something inside of me seemed to crumple. "How can you do such a thing to your own son? This will break his heart. How can you be so unfeeling?"  
"It gives me no pleasure, I assure you," the Comtesse said. "It took me some time to come to this resolution. But I saw my dear brother make an unsuitable marriage. The result was only ruination and despair on both sides. I cannot allow such a thing to happen to my only son."  
"How will you pretend to hold the moral high ground after this?" I asked. My voice sounded raw, not like me at all. "You have left him with the alternative of losing his family or losing the woman he loves!"  
"Tell me once and for all, do you still intend to marry him?" In her eyes I could see shame at having to resort to this and fear that I would refuse to oblige her. However, I could also see readiness for relentless, all-consuming hatred if I defied her. She was prepared to follow through with this resolution.  
"I do not," I said. "Congratulations, Madame la Comtesse- you've won. Are you satisfied?"  
The amusing look of shock on her face was some miniscule consolation. She was so astonished that she actually sat down, hard, on the edge of my piano keyboard (covered, fortunately, or I suspect the jarring chords she would have sounded would have shredded what was left of my frail nerves).  
I suspected she was the sort of woman who hadn't sat down on an article of furniture not intended for the purpose since she was an infant (assuming a person like her had ever been a child at all, which I found difficult to envision). When she realized her error, she sprang up as though she'd sat on a hot stovetop, rather than a piano.

"Then... you will not marry him?" she said. The look of hope and relief on her face enraged me. She looked like she'd just heard that Raoul had survived a serious illness.

"I give you my word," I said, flinging the words out and fixing her with a look of pure hatred.  
"I am very glad indeed to hear this," she said, recovering her dignity with admirable swiftness. "Now, will you promise me to leave him alone? Will you promise me you will have nothing to do with him in the future?"

"What?" I cried, so furiously that she actually seemed to falter for a moment.

"He is entirely too weak-willed for a man his age," she resumed. "With your presence nearby as a temptation, he cannot be relied on to do his duty."

"He is not weak-willed," I cried. She had already insulted me and hurt me beyond imagination. I would not allow her to insult the person I loved best. "He is the very opposite. He is the very model of valor and fortitude. You do not know your son at all."

"I see him with a mother's eyes. I am aware of the weaknesses of his character. Mademoiselle, I must ask you once again to promise to-"  
"-Madame la Comtesse!" I roared, cutting her off. "You have accomplished what you came for. You have separated me from the only man I have ever loved- for I gave you a promise in that respect and I assure you I mean to keep it. In addition, you have insulted me and my character in every way I can possibly imagine. Therefore, you can now have nothing further to say to me." I stood up and gestured toward the door. "No doubt you have many calls of a similar nature to make. Bribing unsuitable young men to leave your daughters, perhaps? I should hate to take up any more of your busy social schedule!"  
She clutched at her hat and bustled furiously toward the door. I wondered when was the last time anyone had dared stand up to her. She was obviously not used to it. "Never… never in my entire life have I been thus treated!" she sputtered.  
"Then I can only assume you have not behaved toward anyone the way you just did toward me," I cried, advancing toward her, "Or you would be well-accustomed to it by now!"  
She bolted out the door just a few inches ahead of me, and I slammed it behind her, just missing the lavishly embroidered hem of her skirt.  
I leaned my back against the door and sank to the floor, realizing for the first time that I was shaking. When I was sure the Comtesse had gone, I gave in to my feelings and cried heartily.

 _End of Chapter 3_


	4. Chapter 4

I was left alone for the next hour and a half. I was glad for that.  
It gave me time to ponder the enormity of what just happened without interruption, and decide how to break the dreadful news to Raoul.  
But as his carriage stopped in the street below and I watched him get out, I realized that was unnecessary. I could see by his expression that he already knew.  
However, he did not look sad, as I had expected, but angry.  
He paused for a moment on the threshold, then disappeared inside the building, and I heard his footsteps running up the stairs.  
A moment later there came a pounding on my door. "Christine!" he cried. "Christine, are you there? Christine!"  
I opened the door as quickly as possible.  
Raoul's face was flushed, his hair in disarray. He'd forgotten to bring a coat or umbrella, though it was raining and there was a stiff breeze outside.  
"Darling," I ventured nervously.  
He didn't reply. He stormed through the door, flung his hat down on a table and began stalking up and down the room. His breath was shallow and fast.  
I gently closed the door and slowly turned round, watching him in silence. It didn't seem like the time to speak.  
At last, he rounded on me and spoke. "Where to begin?" he cried, practically stammering. "My mother just came to me with the most absurd news. She said… She said you've broken our engagement! Of course, I told her I'd come here at once and you'd say it wasn't true!"  
I peered up at him in surprise. It was not until he'd begun to speak that I realized he was angry at _me_. But there was no mistaking it.  
Still, I was almost glad. I was not sure if I could resist the temptation to resume our engagement- and inadvertently ruin his life- if he came to me brokenhearted and tearful. Anger, on the other hand, I could withstand. The Comtesse, who was a good deal more frightening than Raoul, had already directed a torrent of fury at me and I had not faltered.  
But that didn't mean it would be easy.  
"Well?" he said. "It's not true, is it?"  
I took a deep breath. "It is," I said shakily, shocked by how small my voice was.  
Raoul stared at me, shock written across his handsome features. A astonished laugh broke from his lips. "Christine, no! You cannot! You must be joking! Either that, or I am going mad! What can you possibly be thinking?"  
"Raoul... my darling... Perhaps she did not tell you that you will lose all your family if I make you keep your promise to marry me."

He stared at me for a moment in silence. "My God," he said at last. "I should have known."

"Don't you see?" I said.

"No, I do not!" he cried. "You think I am better off with a family who would throw me aside like unwanted garbage than with you?"

"No!" I said, wounded. "I think-"

He scarcely seemed to hear me. "How can you propose to abandon me like this? After everything I've endured for your sake! It's positively ungrateful! Do you have any idea what this would do to me? I never imagined you of all women could be so callous!"  
Now I was angry. "What would be ungrateful and callous would be repaying the infinite kindness and tenderness and affection you have shown me by allowing you to throw your life away, just for the sake of securing my own happiness!" I said. "It would be utterly selfish. If I did that I could never be at peace with myself again. I couldn't forgive myself."

"Why?" he demanded.

"I know what it is to lose all the family you have. I cannot cause the same thing to happen to you," I said. "I cannot!"  
He stared at me for a moment in silence. Finally, he flung himself down heavily in an armchair. The energy seemed to have drained out of him. When he looked up at me, his expression was no longer furious, but weary and sad. "Your consideration does you credit," he said. "As always, you are generous and compassionate… even to those who utterly fail to deserve it. That is part of what made me fall in love with you. But you were only a child when you lost your parents. That is different. It would not be so painful for me, at twenty-one. Though it may seem cruel to say it, I don't need my parents."  
"But it would be far worse to lose them while they were still alive," I said. "You would come to blame yourself." _Or perhaps me..._ "I know you would. And for your poor mother to be divided from her only son…"  
"She would bring it on herself," he said. "This is in her hands."  
"She acts according to her principles," I said. "She cannot do otherwise. She knows no other law than the honor of the de Chagny family. One can see that. She has devoted her whole life to it."  
"Always making excuses for others," he said bitterly. "To hear you speak, one would think the monster who deceived and kidnapped you and nearly murdered me was just 'unhappy'! Why must you always play the martyr? You don't always have to sacrifice yourself to atone for the selfishness of others."  
"Perhaps it is a result of being named Christine." I smiled weakly. "But for what it is worth, she is not my first concern. You are. If we married and something happened to me, you would be utterly alone."  
"Even a few days with you would be worth spending the rest of my life alone," he said stoutly.  
I had to fight back a fresh flood of tears. It was perhaps the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me. Which made it all the more unfortunate that it was entirely illogical. "You say that because you do not know what it is to be truly on one's own in the world," I replied. "You've never been alone a day in your life, have you? You don't know- forgive me- what a Hell that is. Besides…" I swallowed. "I do not want to be like the Ghost- he nearly forced me to leave behind everything and everyone I knew to go with him." Even the curiously intense passion I'd felt for the ghost would not have been enough to justify that.  
"Yes, and you were willing to make that sacrifice, for my sake," Raoul said. "I have never been able to repay the immense debt I owe you for that. Allow me to do so now," he pleaded.  
"I cannot ask you to accept such a fate," I said. "That is not love. That is selfishness."  
"Christine-"  
"Raoul- my darling- anything you say will only strengthen my resolution," I said sadly.  
"Christine, you cannot change your mind now!" he cried.  
I felt a stab of fury. "I am changing it because the circumstances have become clear to me." My next words came spilling out in an angry torrent. "It would not be necessary to… revise our plans at this late hour if you had warned me about this in advance."  
Raoul's expression hardened. "What?" he demanded.  
The thought had been lurking in the back of my mind ever since my first discussion with the Comtesse. I had not wanted to bring it up, and until today I had restrained myself, but now it suddenly came flooding out.  
"You know your parents," I said. "You should have known this would happen." I froze, flooded with sudden realization. "That's why you kept our engagement secret. Not because of the Ghost."  
He leapt up. "How dare you suspect me of such a thing?"  
"It's true, isn't it?" Seeing the furious look on his face, I stopped. With an effort, I managed to collect myself. "Forgive me. We are getting nowhere. Perhaps it would be better if we discussed this tomorrow. I need time to think."  
"Take all the time you need," he said suddenly.  
"What?" I said in confusion.  
"I should have expected this. It's just as my mother said. You were very eager to marry me when you had the promise of becoming Vicomtesse de Chagny. But now that that's been taken away from you, you're very eager to get rid of me."  
I gasped. "How can you say such a thing? Raoul! What you're implying- you know that isn't true!"  
"I know nothing of the sort." He snatched up his hat and flung open the door. "I don't want to see you again."  
And he stormed out of the apartment. If he had not been a gentleman I believe he would have slammed the door behind him.  
I called out to him; I chased after him, but it was too late. He was gone.

I stared after him for a moment, paralyzed with despair, before finding the strength to drag myself back to my apartment. Shutting the door once more, I collapsed into a chair. But this time I didn't cry. I didn't have any tears left.

 _End of Chapter 4_


	5. Chapter 5

He was back at my door the next day, with a vast bouquet of red roses and a look of shame.  
"I behaved abominably," he said, his eyes as mournful as a puppy's. "Can you forgive me?"  
I let him in at once and threw my arms around him, unfortunately crushing the flowers a little in the process. I had something to say to him that made my mood lighter than the day before. "Of course I can," I told him at once. "I behaved worse. I said the most dreadful things. The question is, can you forgive me?"  
He smiled. "I can if you'll marry me."  
"I cannot do that," I said.  
"And what happens to me if you don't?" he cried. "Do you expect me to forget everything we have shared? Will you just leave me alone and miserable?"  
"That is not my intention," I said.  
He blinked at me uncomprehendingly.  
"Something occurred to me," I went on.  
"I see. Last night it occurred to you how silly you were being, and you've realized that we ought to go ahead and be married after all? Very well. Christine, I accept." He lifted my hand, clasped in his own, to his lips and kissed it. "We shall be married this month."  
I laughed sadly. "No," I said.  
His face instantly resumed the same devastated look it had worn yesterday.

It was painful to see. I quickly launched into sharing what I had to tell him. "Perhaps there is a way for us to be together without angering your parents," I said.  
He laughed bitterly. "How do you propose to work that miracle?"  
I took the roses. "You do not have to marry me," I said. "This is the solution." The idea had occurred to me the night before, and I'd immediately wondered why I hadn't thought of it long ago.  
His expression darkened.  
"We can move somewhere far away from here and start a life together, just as if we were man and wife," I went on eagerly. "No one would need to know. We could have a little house by the sea, just like we said we would all those years ago, and-"

Raoul, however, did not see it in that light. "No, Christine," he said the instant I had finished.  
"They would never find out," I said again.  
"But that is not the fate for you. You are a virtuous woman!"

"No, I'm not," I said cynically. "A foreign chorus girl?"

"Yes you are!" he cried. "My family have no authority to take away your right to an honorable marriage. They do not get to decree that you are worthy only to be some man's mistress!"  
"You are not just 'some man'," I said. "You are the most wonderful man I have ever known. It doesn't matter on what terms; our being together would be enough for me." I thought of my proud words to the Comtesse the day before, insisting that I was a virtuous woman. What would she say if she could hear me know? I shoved the thought away.  
"But that wouldn't be enough for me," Raoul said.  
"Why?" I demanded. "Is my love for you only worthy if it is sanctified in the way you deem fit?"  
"No!" he cried. "My God! Christine, what have I done to make you think you should defile yourself for me?"  
I suddenly started to cry. The tears I hadn't been able to find the day before came hot and fast. "You said I only wanted to be with you if it meant I could become a Vicomtesse. It isn't true! I have to show you it isn't true! How else can I prove it to you? I only want to be with you!"  
He was staring at me in horror. "Oh, Christine. I didn't mean it for an instant. I know that isn't why you want- wanted to marry me. I always knew that. I was angry at everyone and everything. And so I said the cruelest thing I could think of. I had no idea it would be taken in such a way. What must you have been thinking? My God. I'm a brute. Christine, I am wretchedly sorry."

He pulled me into his arms. I sobbed into his shoulder, making an appalling mess of his beautifully tailored jacket. He was, of course, too gracious to say anything.  
"You have done nothing you need apologize for," I sniffled, though he had indeed wounded my feelings. I suddenly felt ashamed- I still didn't have any objections of my own to living with him, but if I had known the idea would shock him so much I would never have suggested it. What must he think of me? "Please tell me you don't think less of me for suggesting what I did," I said, my voice still raw. "I couldn't bear it if I'd lowered myself in your estimation."  
"Of course I do not think less of you," I said. "I think less of myself for driving you to it. I still want to marry you. More than ever."

"But I cannot marry you," I said again. It didn't become any easier with repetition. "That is the end of the matter. I wish you would not keep saying it."

"Christine, have pity," he said. "Don't you see that if I don't marry you they'll make me marry someone else?"  
He was right. It hadn't occurred to me before, but they would. He had to marry- there was no other heir to the de Chagny lineage but him. I suddenly felt crushed, as though all the air had been squeezed out of me. The thought of him spending his life with another woman was excruciating.  
"You can't leave me defenseless!" he went on. "Do you know what my parents would do once they'd gotten you out of the way? They'd try to force me to marry my cousin Anne Moerogis de la Martynière- I know it. My mother has been scheming to pair me up with her since we were in the cradle. You don't know what Anne's like!"  
"I've heard that she's very pretty," I volunteered. Anne was something of a celebrity, and often featured in the society pages, which many of the dancers at the opera house had loved to read and gossip about.  
"Oh, yes, she's pretty!" Raoul sneered, throwing his hands into the air. "She also thinks South America is a country, there are twenty-nine letters in the alphabet and Napoleon was a- is a variety of ice cream! You are twice as pretty as her and ten times as intelligent. I can't marry a girl like Anne, especially not when there is a Christine Daae in the world! You cannot condemn me to that fate! It would kill me!"  
"I am not condemning you to that fate," I said. "You could never marry a girl like that, I know- and you will not have to."

"Well, how could I possibly get out of it?"

"You are handsome and charming and clever and kind- you can find a worthy and accomplished woman amongst the circles your parents would approve of," I said.

"But I don't want to marry some other 'worthy and accomplished' woman. I want you."

"In addition, she will be able to uphold the proud de Chagny tradition as I apparently am unable to," I went on.  
Raoul scowled impressively, and made a sound that sounded remarkably like _Hmph!_ "Do you know what I'd like to do with the proud de Chagny tradition right now?" he said.  
I almost smiled. "You would regret it. You would regret giving up the life you have- though you do not see it now."

"I would never regret marrying you," he said.

"But you would miss what you left behind," I insisted. "You don't know how fortunate you are. If you did- if you'd had to do without, and been alone, as I have done- you would understand."

"Then you still refuse to marry me?" he said, his eyes searching mine.  
I swallowed. The thought of him marrying someone else- even someone considerably brighter than Anne Moerogis de la Martynière- was unbearable. He was mine. How could he belong to someone else? The very idea was unnatural- grotesque. For a moment, my resolve wavered. But I steeled myself, and a second later, the moment had passed. It was over. I had won. I was master of myself once more. "Yes," I said. "Someday you'll be glad."

"No," he insisted.

"Yes, you will. And since I have done the right thing, maybe someday I will manage to be glad, too. Someday a very long time from now," I said sadly.

Raoul settled himself on a sofa and bid me take a seat beside him. His eyes meant mine, and I saw tears in their blue depths. A moment later, they began to trail down his cheeks. "Then I've lost you," he said. "They've stolen me from you."

"It isn't like that..." I said pitifully.

"Yes, it is!" he shouted.

"You haven't lost me," I swore. "I love you as much as ever. I've loved you all my life." Suddenly I couldn't bear to talk any longer. I pulled him toward me and kissed him, trying to lose myself in the caress, trying to forget my pain for a moment.

When at last I pulled away, I saw that Raoul was weeping openly.

"Please," I said. "Please, don't make this any more difficult."

"Promise me you'll stay here, at least," he said at last, his voice shaking.

He'd stopped asking me to marry him.

So I'd won.

I'd never been less happy about anything.

"Promise me I can still see you!" he said, louder, grabbing my hand.  
"Well, I can't stay in this appartement," I said, eager to discuss something practical, to move to firmer ground. "I should probably have left it long ago. It belongs to your family."

"I know, but you'll stay in Orléans, at least?" he said, as though holding on to one last, pitiful hope.

"I cannot," I said.

"That is absurd. You 'cannot' marry me, you 'cannot' stay here. Whyever not?" he demanded.

"It is not big enough. We might easily run into each other at any time."

"That is a good thing!" he cried.

"No, it would be too painful for me," I said. "And for you, too, I imagine."  
"Then where will you go? You're just going to abandon me?" he practically wailed.

"I'll stay in France," I promised suddenly, and almost against my will - until that moment it had been my intention to return to Sweden.

He seemed to relax. "Ah. Good. At least that is something. And... where will you go?"

"I'll go back to Paris," I said. "You spend half the year there anyway." Silently, however, I resolved to keep out of his way. That was part of the reason my mind had settled on the capitol. It was large enough that I could avoid him. There were vast swathes of it where aristocrats like him would never dream of setting foot. I could make him feel that he had the hope of seeing me without ever actually allowing that to happen. We would be comfortingly near each other, and yet not near enough for it to be a temptation. The more I thought about it, the more ideal it seemed.

"Paris?" Raoul said. To my surprise, there was a look of alarm on his face.

"What is it?" I asked.

"The ghost may be there, of course!" he said fretfully.

I'd practically forgotten about the ghost amid the distress of the past few hours. "But he was in Istanbul."

"He may go back to Paris, especially if he learns you are there, and that... that our engagement is broken. I do not like to think of it."

"I shall be safer in Paris than anywhere else. If he has any sense, it is the last place he would go," I pointed out. "He has an impressive criminal history there."

Raoul scoffed. "He spent years running under the very noses of the authorities. Why should he shy from it now? Besides, everyone is convinced he is dead. He has carte blanche to go where he pleases without risk of being caught."

"I do not think he enjoyed always having to dodge past the authorities," I said. "Besides, everyone knows the police did a poor job with that case. If the ghost makes one wrong move, they may easily be persuaded to reopen the investigation."

"Where do you suppose he has gone, then?" Raoul said testily.

"I do not know," I said in a similar tone. "I'm not his keeper." Seeing his look, however, I ventured a guess. "I think he may go to Prussia. After what the Prussians did to us, I do not think the French police will be willing to collaborate with them just to get the ghost back."

"You're right," he said to my surprise. "That does seem likely, doesn't it?" And then, after a moment, "Well, don't ever go to Prussia."

I smiled. "I shall do my best."

We lapsed into a brief, uncomfortable silence. I busied myself making tea just for the sake of something to do.

"Well, then," Raoul said at last. "While it pains me to be so vulgar, you will have to earn your living, I suppose."

I hid a smile- had that inconvenient reality only just occurred to him?

"While it distresses me to think of you being forced to slave away for your daily bread, I confess it pains me less than the thought of you having to marry someone else," he said. "Or is that ungallant of me?"

"It's quite understandable," I said. "If only there were a way to get you out of marrying someone else, too. I am the luckier of the two of us." I smiled weakly. "In any case... you may set your mind at ease, for I cannot imagine marrying anyone but you."

He smiled. "At least one of us will be free. That will have to be my consolation, I suppose: at least I can do something for you. I shall set you up in a respectable line of business. I'll make inquiries. Or I can give you a loan to start a… boutique or something, whatever it is a lady of business would start. What sort of métier might interest you?"

I felt a twinge as it occurred to me that this was just what gentlemen did when they needed to get rid of an inamorata who was becoming inconvenient. Still, I should at least be glad that Raoul was a gentleman. Less honorable men simply threw women out without another thought.

"I do not think I am made for what you would term 'respectable business'," I said slowly. "As much as I admire simple, honest work, as much as I wish I could be satisfied with it like other people, there seems to be something wrong with me such that I cannot. I would go mad working as a typist or in a telephone exchange."

"Then what do you propose to do?" he asked.

"It is my intention to return to music," I said, with as much dignity and conviction as possible.

CHANGES BEGIN HERE. UPDATED DEC 15, 2015

"Ah," Raoul said. "You wish to teach music lessons? That is a very respectable occupation."

He still didn't quite understand. "At first, yes. But I think I can still get a position in a chorus. Perhaps even back at the Opéra, if they're willing to overlook certain unfortunate... events from the past year."

At the suggestion, his face darkened.

"What is it?" I said.

"You would not mind?" he said. "It breaks my heart to think of you being forced to return to the stage."

I smiled. "I wouldn't be 'forced'. I always dreamt of being a singer. I was ready to give it up to be your wife." Or at least, I thought I was. "But truthfully I would always have missed it. It is no burden to go back to it."

"I'm not sure I understand," he said.  
"You don't need to," I replied gently.

He nodded slowly. "Well, I cannot thwart any more of your ambitions. If that is what you wish for, then I shall oblige you." He shrugged.

"You don't look happy," I said. "I thought you would be glad for me."

"If you can manage this, then I shall be," he replied. "But... well, how do you know you can still sing?"  
"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Can you sing the way you did without... _him_?" Raoul said. There was no need to ask who he was referring to. "You only sang like that when he was training you."

"That isn't true," I said. "He may be gone, but I've been practicing every day-"

"-You have? Why?"  
"Because I wish to. What does it matter?" I said impatiently. "In any case, I have been practicing every day, and I can still sing the same pieces."

"But is your voice the same?" he said. "Who has there been to hear you? It's hard to judge these things for one's self, or so I understand."

"Yes, it is. But why should it be any different?" I asked.

"Because it only became the way it did because of the ghost," he said. "What he did to you... there was something almost ... supernatural about it, wasn't there?"

"You think he bewitched my voice?" I said, outraged. "I am a good Christian. My soul is pure. The darkness cannot gain a hold on it."

He winced as though annoyed. "Supernatural was not quite the right word, perhaps. But that trickster obviously mesmerized you in some way, perhaps like psychologists do with their victims- er, patients." He smiled at his own joke. "I mean to say, the effect he had on you was... peculiar. He was able to convince you to do absurd things, to follow him to God knows where."

"Yes, but did that influence extended to my singing?" I asked. "Surely-"

"-You said yourself that you hardly knew yourself when you sang for him," he said. "Isn't it possible that his devices - his tricks - somehow enabled you to do things musically that you would not have been capable of under normal circumstances?"

"But-"

"Christine, you must admit, it is possible," he insisted. "I have heard tales of people being enabled by mesmerization to commit feats of unnatural strength."

My mind reeled as his words slowly sank in. I could not ignore the undeniable logic of what he was saying. Had I lost my gift, the peculiarly splendid voice that had been given to me so suddenly and unexpectedly as to seem almost unnatural? Had it gone away with the ghost? There was no proof that it hadn't- not a shred... "Yes, it is possible. You are right. What shall I do?" _I have already lost you- I can't lose music too, not now!_

"Well, we ought not to jump to conclusions until we know for certain. Sing something for me now," Raoul suggested. "I don't give a fig what the neighbors think."

This was all too much. I didn't want to think about it. "You wouldn't be able to tell the difference," I stalled.

"I could tell before, back at the opera house," he said. "I may not be Mozart, but even I could tell your voice had changed to a miraculous extent when I first heard you sing in _Faust_. The difference was obvious even to an outsider like me. If it has reverted, I shall be able to tell."

That was exactly what I was afraid of, I realized. If I had lost my gift, I didn't want to know. I wasn't sure I could bear the news. "I'd rather not just yet, if you don't mind," I replied.

"Oh?" he said.

"It may have been rash to decide to return to music right away. Everything has happened so suddenly. I need time to consider before I come to a decision," I said.

"Of course," Raoul agreed at once. "Do not distress yourself. There will always be music in the world."

 _If only it were that simple!_ I wanted to cry.

Raoul sat back in his chair and sighed. His look was one of relief, even satisfaction. Upon reflection, I decided I could not resent that. I knew it was not my distress he was glad about.

In fact, I wasn't even sure he realized how distressing this new development was for me. He didn't know how important music truly was to me, and that was at least partially my fault, for I had never tried to explain. For whatever reason, I hadn't wanted to try to convey to him the sense of ecstasy it brought me.

What he was glad about now, of course, was the thought of severing this one last tie that linked me to the ghost. My singing was the one gift he had ever given me. If it wasn't truly a gift at all- if it had merely been the result of some diabolical manipulation of my mind- then it relieved me of any remaining obligation I might possibly have owed to him.

And who could blame Raoul for desiring that? In fact, I ought to have been relieved too.

But how could I live without singing? Music was the truest, purest thing I had ever found. My voice had been my wings. It had lifted me closer to greatness, to beauty, to perfection, than I had ever come before or was ever likely to come again.

A few hours later, Raoul goodbye for the day with the promise to come by first thing in the morning- though for what purpose, I could not possibly imagine, as there was nothing left he could do to help me or lighten any part of my misery. Left alone, as night was falling outside I gathered my courage and tried again to sing.

It was a debacle. How had I never noticed before how different I sounded? Perhaps it had been the last of the ghost's lingering spell over me, I thought. Well, now it was gone. I heard every new flaw with painful clarity-

The final catastrophe came when I strained to reach a C6- a note that before, when I had been the ghost's pupil, would have been child's play for me. Raoul was right, of course, I thought. It wasn't natural to be able to do what I had done before - spinning out long, lingering, clear high Fs and even F-sharps as effortlessly as a bird. Of course there had been other forces at work. It had been impossibly arrogant of me to think I was really capable of such a feat on my own.

Overwhelmed with humiliation, I stopped abruptly and slammed down the lid of my piano.

I realized I'd begun to shake. Because even if it had been nothing but a deception all along, I felt like a part of me had died.

I couldn't sing anymore.

 _End of Chapter 5_

 _If you're tired of everybody being so danged honorable, stick around!_


	6. Chapter 6

There were a great many things I suddenly had to do now that our engagement was really and truly over. There was packing to think of- though I had brought almost nothing with me after my flight from the opera house, Raoul had bought me a great many clothes and other luxuries over the past few weeks- and transportation, and worst of all, I had to write to all my friends and apprise them of the dreadful news. But there was one thing I refused to do. I would not go to the boutique where I'd ordered my trousseau, and the atelier where my dress was being made, and tell the already superior staff- who'd sneered at my simple clothes and my faint Swedish accent, and seemed to find it impossible to believe that I could be marrying well- that I needed to cancel the order. I would not endure the humiliation. I could afford not to because it wasn't my money; it was the Comte and Comtesse's. This was my revenge. If they didn't want to pay the bill, they would have to face the consequences of their actions and address the matter themselves. I didn't feel the slightest trace of guilt.

Thus, by the end of the next week I found myself on a train steaming northward to Paris. I felt as nervous as when I was a little girl first arriving in the vast city. This time, however, things were considerably more in my favor. Tucked carefully into my reticule were a reference letter to the owner of a chic little ribbon-shop on the Champs-Elysees and the deed to an appartement in Paris' nineteenth arrondissement. The Comte and Comtesse had, to my astonishment, provided both for me. It seemed their aristocratic code would not let them leave me without a home and a means of supporting myself. The only condition was that I not tell Raoul the address of either- a condition that was easy to accept, since that had been been my intention anyway ever since Raoul said he would not live with me and I realized we would have to be parted.

Their choice was not entirely disinterested. The appartement was almost as far from their own home in Paris as it is possible to be, so the chances that Raoul would cross my path there were almost nonexistent. But I knew the neighborhood to be a very pleasant one, with clean, elegant, modern buildings overlooking a magnificent park. Perhaps I had not given the de Chagnys enough credit. Not everyone is generous to their defeated enemies.

It had been difficult to convince Raoul not to come with me on the train. He had agreed to leave my side only after I'd promised I would write to Madame Giry and ask her to accompany me. Thus, the good lady had been dragged forth from her new home in Provence, where she'd settled shortly after the disaster at the opera house, and summoned to chaperone me on the brief journey to Paris. I'd been embarrassed to ask such a favor, but when she arrived her evident delight at seeing me soon put that feeling to rest. Besides, she assured me, she'd been wanting to visit Meg anyway, and now she had a perfect excuse to do so.

I was no less glad to see her. Though we'd written to each other often over the past few months, it was immensely comforting to see the face of another person I loved. She'd been heartbroken to learn about the end of the engagement. But unlike my other friends and acquaintances- especially Meg, who'd had some scathing words on the subject- she did not blame Raoul in the slightest. She seemed to understand instinctively that if there had been any way to resolve the predicament we'd been thrown into, he would have seized it. I was grateful for that, even if I did not understand it- she and Raoul were barely acquainted, and she was not normally the sort of woman who put trust in people she didn't know. Still, she seemed convinced of his steadfast character, and I wasn't going to complain about that.

For her part, she seemed to have little she wanted to tell. She assured me her own life had been blissfully uneventful the past few months. Therefore, our journey passed in relative quiet, though she did take advantage of the first-class tickets Raoul had procured to help herself to champagne.

She understood that I needed time to reflect, and we had known each other for so long that the quiet felt companionable, not oppressive. We could have easily filled the silence if we'd so desired; it was merely that we had both agreed not to. I have long believed that such silences are one of the hallmarks of true affection.

There was only one point of awkwardness for me.

Not longer after the disaster at the opera house, Meg had mentioned in a letter to me that she was "on terms" with a certain nobleman, the Baron de Castelot-Barbazac. Her letters, characteristically, had been rather vague. She'd talked in detail about the new clothes and jewels he'd bought her and the lavish parties he'd taken her to, but I couldn't gain any insight into how she felt about the baron himself. This had greatly distressed me. I was very much afraid that the disaster at the opera house had destroyed her chance of making a living in a ballet company, and that she'd thus been forced to jump into the bed of the first rich man she could find. She was beautiful, but that was no guarantee that the Baron was attractive, or even decent. It seemed to me impossible that his intentions for her could be honorable. Men often simply threw their mistresses out onto the street.

According to Meg, he had mentioned marriage recently. But though I hadn't told her, I didn't believe he meant it. I had seen what happened when aristocrats tried to marry unsuitable women. Society and their families came down on them like a ton of bricks. He wouldn't risk it.

It didn't seem right to ask Meg anything about such a grave matter in a letter, however. And besides, I wanted to see her expression when she explained things to me- it would tell me far more than written words could do.

I had already determined not to mention any of these concerns to Madame Giry. There was nothing she could do, or she would surely have done it already, and it would only distress her to be reminded of the whole affair. I'd merely asked briefly, "Is Meg well?" and she'd said, even more briefly, "Oh, yes," and that had been the end of it.

Perhaps her daughter had not even told her about the matter. Somehow that thought was even more distressing.

As I watched the picturesque countryside speed past, my mind went back to Meg again and again. I resolved that I would use some of my newfound wealth to help her if necessary. The realization that my change of circumstances could be used to help a friend encouraged me immensely.

When we reached the suburbs of Paris, Madame Giry roused herself from her silence. "I hope you will forgive me for asking, my dear, but what happens now? I know your temperament- you will run mad if you do not have something to engage your mind."

"I think my work at the boutique will be sufficient to pass the time," I said. "I am very much looking forward to the prospect of being useful again." In truth, I felt the work ahead of me seemed intolerably boring. But there was no reason to tell Madame Giry that and distress her.

Besides, now that I didn't have the hope of singing anymore, it didn't matter to me what I did.

"That is all very well- in its own way- but what about your music?" Madame Giry pressed. "You mean to continue with it, I trust? You must find a vocal coach or you will not progress. I know you've been practicing diligently, and that is admirable, but you must find an instructor if you are to achieve your full potential."

I swallowed. I felt it was time to explain my situation. It wasn't something I would have been willing to discuss with anyone else, but Madame Giry had practically brought me up- she had a right to know. "I have no plans to continue singing," I confessed.

Madame Giry stared at me in horror. "You're not going to at all? But my dear..."

"I cannot sing anymore." To my surprise and alarm, tears suddenly sprang to my eyes.

"Good Heavens! My dear! Whyever not? Has something happened?"

"It was the angel- the ghost, I mean- who made me sing the way I did," I said, swallowing. "He did something to my voice that other people were never able to do. Raoul thinks he mesmerized me. Whatever it was, I'm afraid I can't sing without his help."

"I don't see why you think that."

"It makes sense, doesn't it?" I insisted. "Raoul said the change in how I sounded when I sang Marguerite in Faust was... unnatural. This seems like the most probable explanation for it."

"But what does Monsieur le Vicomte know? He's never had a music lesson in his life. Surely if you..."

"I have tried," I said, more sharply than I intended to. "Raoul is right- I cannot find my voice anymore. I may try again, but I fear it will be no use."

"Oh," Madame Giry said softly. "I see." After a moment, she added, "Well, if you have truly lost the ability to sing, then I am very sorry indeed. It would be a great loss not just to you but to the whole nation- truly."

"Thank you," I said, touched.

"Of course, my dear." She lapsed into a pensive silence. At length she asked, "If it is truly the case that no one else can help you sing, would you accept lessons from him again? If that were possible?"

"I don't know," I said, surprising myself. The answer should have been a resounding 'No'. I should have never wanted to see him again. But the thought of getting my music back... I would have been willing to do anything. "Why do you ask? Do you know where he is?" I heard myself asking.

"No, of course not," she replied. But it seemed to me she said it a little too quickly.

"But you knew something about him," I pointed out. "I know you did."

"I don't know why you think that. I knew no more than anyone else," she insisted.

"But when we were at the opera house, you gave me his messages."

She shrugged. "That doesn't mean anything. I would find messages from him that were addressed to you, and pass them on. That's all."

"But why did he have you deliver them?" I asked. "And what about that last letter? It was from him, and you forwarded it to me."

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know how he found me." Now I was certain she'd replied too quickly. She hadn't bothered to reflect at all before replying. It was a prepared answer- one she'd had ready in case I started asking such questions. "He must have felt I was trustworthy," she said at last, trying for a joking tone. "Is that so astonishing?" But the teasing light in her eyes could not mask the glint of alarm that lurked behind it.

I was suddenly oppressed by the feeling that I did not know her as well as I'd thought.

Not long afterward, our train pulled into the Gare d'Orléans.

 _End of Chapter 6_


	7. Chapter 7

**Note: Many details of this chapter are specifically based on the Leroux novel as opposed to the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. I have omitted the murders of Erik's 'keeper' and Ubaldo Piangi because they are not canon.**

Chapter 7  
After depositing me safely at my appartement and making sure I was comfortably settled, Madame Giry departed to seek out her daughter.  
I left them alone for the next day or so- they had not seen each other in some time, after all- but after Madame Giry had gone home, a note immediately arrived from Meg inviting me to an early lunch. I was a bit surprised by her choice of restaurant, Café Tortoni de Paris. A chic little ice cream parlor with daintily scalloped awnings that jutted out over the sidewalks of the Boulevard des Italiens, it had been around for over a hundred years and was known for being a meeting place for some of the most illustrious figures in the city. However, I supposed the choice made sense, given that she was associated with a baron now. As I walked through the door, I couldn't help thinking how things had changed. Only a year ago, when Meg and I had been mere humble chorus girls, we would never have dared to go into a place like this. If we did happen to go near it, we would have clung to each other and whispered reverently as we scurried past. Now, we both walked in confidently as though it were the most natural thing in the world. How things had changed for both of us.  
Inside, Meg deemed it too early in the morning for ice cream, and swiftly summoned a slice of gateau for herself and pots of steaming chocolat for us both. I ordered a pretty little strawberry tarte. I'd missed them in Orléans. They had pâtisserie there too, of course, but no one else made them like Parisian bakers.  
For a few minutes, we talked of this and that. She told me scattered details about her life, but none of them came close to enlightening me about her situation. The questions weighing on my mind were becoming oppressive. I knew I would have to ask her directly.  
"Meg," I said at last when a suitable pause arose, "I don't mean to be indiscreet, but I believe we have been friends long enough to speak frankly to one another."  
"Of course," she said, though her face had assumed a guarded look. "You can tell me anything. What do you want to say?"  
"When you wrote to say you had... taken up with the Baron, I was concerned," I said.  
Her expression hardened, and before I could continue, she shot back, "Oh. You were concerned, were you? You don't approve?" She sniffed. "I ought to have known."  
"No," I said. "It isn't like that- that isn't what I mean! I just wanted to be sure that-"  
"Not all of us can stay pure as the driven snow forever," she said. "Not all of us have viscounts falling on their knees to propose marriage the moment they catch sight of us. The rest of us have to get gentlemen's attention somehow. People say you shouldn't do anything with a man until you've married him, but in my experience there isn't much chance of catching one in the first place if you don't."  
"That isn't what I-"  
"-Really, Christine, I never expected you to be so high and mighty," she said. "We'll have a little less of that from you, if you please!"  
If I hadn't been so concerned for her, I would have been angry. How could she think I would see her that way? "I am painfully well-acquainted with the realities of life, I assure you!" I cried. "And I have not had everything handed to me as you seem to think. I have seen firsthand what happens when one attempts to marry an aristocrat. I am not nearly as puritanical as you say. I would like nothing better than to be living somewhere with... a certain young man-" I didn't want anyone around me hearing Raoul's name and getting ideas about him- "at this very moment- I no longer care in what capacity. But he wouldn't hear of it unless we were married... and I couldn't marry him because of his wretched family!" I stopped and lowered my voice, realizing that some nearby diners were staring at me. To my embarrassment, I felt tears burning in my eyes.  
"I'm sorry," Meg said softly. "You're right, of course. That was unfeeling of me. Please, do forgive me."  
I nodded rapidly, frantically blinking back the tears. "I... I knew the opera house was damaged and I wasn't sure if it could still run," I went on, with an infuriating tremor in my voice, "and I feel that to some degree I was responsible for that whole affair."

"-Christine, you must not think for a moment that that madness was your fault! It-"

"-I never knew what became of most of the people there, our friends. I don't know what happened to their positions with the company..." I stammered, openly sobbing by now. "When I learned your mother was living in the country, I thought she must have lost her job. I worried and worried- I didn't know where you were or what had become of you. And then when I got your letter, I thought..."  
Understanding dawned on Meg's face. "Ohhhhh... You thought that we lost our jobs at the opera house and so I had to become someone's mistress so I could support Maman?"  
I blushed and nodded rapidly. "I was so worried you'd gotten stuck with some dreadful lecherous old man. What I meant to say before was... you see, I have a job now, a good job." It paid far better than I expected. In fact, I suspected Raoul of augmenting my salary. "I have far more money than I need. If I can use it to aid my friends, then at least one good thing has come out of this whole wretched affair." I finally managed to contain my sobs. "So if you and your mother are in need of any... assistance, then please allow me to help you."  
"Oh," Meg said again. Her expression had utterly changed. "Christine! You're a darling. I'm so dreadfully sorry! You poor dear- how you must have worried! I'm sorry I didn't explain better. You must have had a very pretty picture in your head. You made me sound like a saintly martyr, like Fantine, or Sonya in _Crime and Punishment_. Well, don't worry- it wasn't like that at all. I still had my salary with the ballet company; it was enough to live on. I could support myself; I even had enough to support Maman after she decided to retire."  
My anxiety for her began to dissipate, but my confusion remained. "The company kept running after the fire?" I said in bewilderment.  
"Yes. They just arranged for us to rehearse in some other building- it was called Theatre Le Peletier or something like that- for a few days until they patched up the worst of the damage at the opera house, and then they moved us back in."  
"But... I don't understand," I said, surprised. "How is that possible? I thought the opera house would have been ruined. The fire was dreadful..."  
"I know. I was there," Meg said dryly. "But the damage really wasn't very bad at all; you'd be surprised. And people still want to come- more than ever, in fact; everyone suddenly had the urge to improve their minds by going to the opera after all that business with the 'ghost'." She smiled wryly. "They want to see the place for themselves."  
I flushed. How embarrassing. "All that business with the ghost and me, you mean. It was probably the scandal of the century, wasn't it?"  
"Don't flatter yourself," she said. "The scandal of the decade, perhaps. But only if they don't catch Prince Edward with another can-can girl, and with that man, it's only a matter of time until they do."  
I smiled.  
"The owners would have had to be imbecilic to close the opera house when so many people wanted to come," Meg went on. "I think they would have tried to keep it running even if it was just a heap of charred wood."

"Yes, I can imagine that," I giggled.

"The company's doing better than ever," Meg said. "Some of the dancers even got raises. So you see, I didn't need a fellow. I got one because I thought it would be good fun. And so it has been. I must say my taste is excellent. The Baron couldn't be further from a fat old lecherer. See for yourself what a good bargain I'm getting." She opened a delicate gold locket that hung around her wrist on a bracelet, and showed me a photograph pasted inside.  
I regarded it with interest. The Baron was a good fifteen years older than her, but nonetheless he was indeed an unusually handsome man, possessed of the dark coloring, broad shoulders, and cleft chin that Meg considered the defining marks of masculine beauty.  
"Good heavens," I said in what I hoped was a sufficiently reverent tone of voice.  
Meg smiled. "He's rather a dear," she said, clasping the locket shut again in a brisk, satisfied manner.  
"He is very pleasant to look at," I agreed with a smile. "But... forgive me... does he treat you well? I know I must sound like a fretful old lady, but I want to know you are well looked-after."  
She smiled. "You don't need to apologize. It's darling of you to fret over me so much. You're turning into quite a mother hen. But have no fear- he's so good to me even you couldn't possibly find anything to object to. He spoils me dreadfully. I could get away from him if I wanted to, but I don't want to, not at all. I'm awfully fond of him." I could see by her face that she meant it. There was a quiet happiness in her expression that hadn't been there the last time I'd seen her. "I was going to invite you to come over this week; I'd really like very much for you to meet him. In fact-" a mischievous twinkle crept into her eye- "Perhaps I should introduce you to some of his friends."  
Oh, dear. "Oh, no. Please don't. I can't."  
"But this is exactly what you need," she said. "It will be just the thing to get your mind off recent occurrences." "I couldn't possibly think of meeting any new young men at a time like this," I protested.  
"Well, when you're ready," she said mildly. But she tucked into her chocolate gateau with a resolute expression on her face, and I could see I wasn't going to be able to fend this off indefinitely.  
I thought it best to steer the conversation back to the previous topic. "Now that I know you are happy, I am delighted for you both," I said. "I hope you will forgive me if my inquiry seemed impertinent."  
"Not at all," she said. "It was dear of you to be worried about me and Maman. It's to your credit."  
We smiled at each other and I felt a great surge of affection for her.  
"Well, then," I said. "I am entirely at peace."  
"I'm awfully glad to hear that. Now that I think about it, I can't believe I didn't think to explain things to you. I could kick myself." A thoughtful look came over Meg's face. "I really can see where you were concerned, especially with Erik going mad like he did and having to flee the country and leave me and Maman behind. But he at least had the decency to make sure she was provided for."  
"Erik?" I said.  
She seemed to misunderstand my inquiry. "Yes. Maman got a whole packet of money in the mail from him a few days after he left. Enough to retire on. And in cash, no less, as he apparently has never kept a bank account, for reasons which I think are obvious. She was so angry at him about everything that at first she didn't even want to accept it. But obviously she didn't have any way of giving it back. So eventually she changed her mind. She went and bought herself a cottage in Provence- very nice." She smirked. "Hot and cold running water, and a telephone, and everything. But it's no less than she deserves after all those years she helped him, for the risk she took."  
"Meg, who is Erik?" I said when I could at least get the words in.  
Meg gave me a funny look, as though my confusion surprised her. "Well, you know. Erik. E- r- i- k." When I still gave her a blank look, she leaned forward and whispered, "The supposed 'ghost'." She accompanied the last word with an ironical twist of her mouth.  
"What?" I said again. "That's the ghost's… name?" Erik. He had a name. And not some strange, mysterious name, either. A perfectly ordinary everyday one, just like the rest of us. It made him seem less menacing.  
"Yes," Meg said to me, slowly, as though she were speaking to a person she suspected of having severely limited intelligence. "He does have a name. He is a human being, you know."  
"Yes, I am certainly aware of that." I almost smiled- any doubts I'd had on that score had evaporated long ago. "But I never heard his name. How did you come to know it?"  
I felt an unexpected twinge of hurt. If I had meant so much to the ghost- to Erik- if he had wanted me to be his wife, why had he never told me his name? Why had he never presented himself as just a man, instead of trying to deceive me by inventing an endless succession of shadowy alter egos- the angel, the ghost, the Red Death? Things might have happened so very differently.

"Maman told me," Meg said, as though that should have been obvious.

"But how did she come to know it?" I asked helplessly.  
Meg was looking at me as though she'd had a revelation. "So Erik never said anything to you about all that? I thought he would have told you of his past."  
"No," I said. "He told me almost nothing. I suppose..." I swallowed. "I suppose I never really gave him a chance to do so. Although if there was anything he wanted me to know, he ought to have told me it openly, like an honest man, instead of hiding everything!"  
"But the Vicomte, he never said anything to you about the sideshow?" Meg said. "Maman told him all about it."  
"Raoul told me nothing about any... sideshow," I said in confusion. "I had no idea he knew anything about the ghost." A faint ray of light had begun to dawn. So far I had pieced together that there was something I ought to know, and I didn't, because Raoul had kept it from me. Now at least this was beginning to make some slight degree of sense. Although I didn't like the idea that he had hidden anything from me. I had always held him up as a model of honesty and openness- something very welcome after the ghost's incessant secrecy. "I wish I knew more. If you know anything about him, will you tell me?"  
Meg wavered. "Perhaps it's better you don't know."  
My jaw tightened. " 'Erik' has no right to secrecy after the way he behaved towards me and especially toward poor Raoul. To be frank, after the abominable way he treated us, I am surprised you wish to protect him."  
"It isn't that. I don't much care about protecting him," Meg said bluntly. "I do pity him to some extent. But that is all. If he ever comes back into France, I can't bring myself to care much what happens to him."  
"Then what is your concern?" I asked.  
"Just that what I know is awfully bleak, and I don't want to upset you."  
"I want to know the truth," I said. "It is the only way I shall ever be free from this whole wretched affair."  
She swallowed. "Very well."  
We paid for our meal and I made the long trek back to my appartement with her in tow. Whilst out in public, we talked of everything and nothing, carefully avoiding the one subject that most occupied my mind. As soon as I had shut my door behind us, however, I could contain my curiosity no longer.

She told me everything her mother had succeeded in finding out about Erik, starting with the night when her mother had brought him to the opera house.  
By the time she finished her account, I was feeling sick. "My God," I said. "Thank God your mother was there to rescue him. Who knows whether anyone else would ever have had compassion on him? It's monstrous!" I felt a tear spill from my eye, quickly followed by several more. It was absurd, I thought, how much crying I'd done over the past few days. But then again, I'd had a great deal to cry about.  
"You don't blame Maman for keeping him hidden all those years?" Meg asked anxiously.

"Might that be part of why you didn't want to tell me all this?" I asked pointedly.  
Meg swallowed. "Yes," she admitted with commendable honestly. "I thought, 'what's done is done, and can't be undone', and besides, I didn't want to stir up discord between the two of you. You've both been carrying enough these past few months."

"Perhaps you're right. I don't know." I thought. "I certainly cannot blame her for taking pity on Erik and helping him hide from those... villains," I said at last. "Any feeling person would have done the same."

"Yes, if they had the nerve," Meg said.

"Yes," I said. "But nonetheless, she should have told me the truth. She should have told me years ago- as soon as she put everything together, as soon as she realized my 'angel' was deceiving me."

"But she she wanted him to tell you himself," Meg said. "It would have been better that way; surely you must see that."  
"Yes," I admitted reluctantly.  
"I think up until the very end, she never stopped hoping that he would decide to be honest with you," Meg went on. "And she never imagined he would hurt you- truly, Christine. You must believe that. When she heard he'd attacked Monsieur le Vicomte, she was so shocked she could hardly speak. You know she loves you. She would never let anyone hurt you if it was in her power to stop it- never!"  
"I do believe you," I said after a moment.  
"Thank you."  
"It's shocking," I said after a moment. Even despite my rage toward Erik for threatening Raoul, I could not withhold an exclamation of sympathy. "Poor unhappy Erik! What he must have endured! It is beyond comprehension! You have a society for the prevention of cruelty to animals here, for goodness' sake- one would think in today's day and age there would at least be some regulations to protect children, too!"  
"There aren't," Meg said flatly. "None. What did you expect? Where have you been, ducky?"  
"I suppose I don't know very much of what goes on the in the world," I said sheepishly. "I spent most of my life walled up in the opera house, and then after that I was engaged to Raoul and naturally he made it his duty to try to guard me from everything." Except his family. He couldn't protect me from them. "Returning to Paris on my own has been a... revelation. I've had to come out and face the world on my own for the first time in years."  
"The same for you and Erik, I suppose," Meg said. "You've both had to come out and face the world now after what happened."  
We paused reflectively, and for awhile neither of us broke our pensive silence. I began absentmindedly rearranging the dainty bric-à-brac that decorated my parlor, but I was scarcely aware of what my hands were doing, I was so absorbed in my thoughts.  
At last Meg went on. "I confess I'm glad he's not Maman's concern anymore. She practically went mad with worry after Joseph Buquet died. She knew if Erik were ever tried for that affair- or any crime, for that matter- the jury would take one look at him and convict him on the spot, and then she would have gotten the blame for hiding him all these years. I don't see why anyone cared that Buquet was gone though, that lecherous old fart," she added wryly. "If someone had bumped him off, I would have liked to shake hands with them."

I swallowed. It seemed wrong to me to speak ill of the dead. "I certainly don't miss Joseph Buquet, but I did not want him to die. Just to... go somewhere very far away, I suppose."  
"Well, he's far away now. Somewhere very hot," Meg said wryly.

"I've often wondered if God would really send a murder victim to Hell, without first giving them a chance to repent," I reflected. "That seems unfair."

"He was a suicide, not a murder victim," Meg said. "Besides, even if he wasn't, where else would you put him?"

"As a foreign pagan, I'm not well-acquainted with the rules governing Purgatory, so you will have to tell me... but couldn't he go there?"

"I hope not- that's too temporary!" Meg cried. "If they ever let him out and into Heaven he'd be pinching all the angels' bums."

We dissolved into laughter.  
"Did you say he was a suicide?" I said, when I'd at last managed to stop giggling.  
The grim subject eventually succeeded in returning us both to a more solemn frame of mind.  
"Well," Meg said at last, "There's no evidence he was murdered."  
"No evidence?" I cried. "Someone took away the rope that hung him! It disappeared. I call that suspicious."  
"That doesn't mean he was murdered," she said. "If someone hung him, why would they risk returning to the scene of the crime to get the rope afterwards? Besides, anyone could have taken it."

"Why would anyone want a piece of a hangman's rope?" I scoffed.

"Are you asking me to supply a logical explanation for the behavior of the corps de ballet of the Paris Opera?" Meg smirked. "It was superstition, that's all. Some of the dancers thought it was good luck."

"What?"

"It's absurd, I know, but then they aren't known for their sense," Meg shrugged. "I know for a fact Cecile Sorelli got ahold of a piece of Buquet's rope- she showed it off to me. She must have gotten it from somewhere."

"And they never told anyone they took the rope?" I cried.

"Naturally not," Meg said with a smirk. "They didn't want to get in trouble with the police. Or the management, for that matter."

To my surprise, her reasoning made perfect sense. So there was another explanation for Buquet's death, one that freed the ghost- Erik- from all suspicion. My mind was reeling. Erik was not a murderer. He had done dreadful things, but not the very worst. He had never fallen quite that far.

"But of course everyone assumed it was the ghost," Meg said. "It was easy to, when everyone was already afraid of him to begin with. And then he sealed his fate as far as the law is concerned when he threatened you and especially when he threatened the Vicomte de Chagny- of all the men he could have chosen to make an enemy of! The fool." "Yes, I suppose he did," I murmured.  
"I don't know how he managed to get past the police," she said.  
"I do," I said. "I persuaded Raoul to tell them he was dead. They believed him, of course."  
She stared at me, mute with astonishment.  
"You must promise not to tell a soul," I said.  
"Of course," she said. "I don't want you getting arrested. Besides, even if I wanted to, I'm sure the de Chagnys would sue me for perjury in a heartbeat, and that would be the end of it."  
"I imagine they would," I said. I smiled - I could just imagine the scene.  
"But how did you ever persuade Monsieur le Vicomte to do that?"

"I don't know," I said. "I suppose he took pity on him, and wanted to show Christian forgiveness. He is a good man."

"I'm sure," Meg said. "But... why on earth did you want to let Erik get away, ducky? After all he'd done to you? You didn't even know what a dreadful growing-up he'd had, or anything! What possible reason could you have had?"  
"It's difficult to explain," I said, realizing for the first time that I didn't quite know myself.  
"Never mind," Meg said. "I already know."  
"Why do you think?" I asked.  
She fixed me with a pointed stare.  
I couldn't understand what she was trying to imply, but whatever it was, it made me uncomfortable. I desperately wanted to change the subject. "You say he left France, then?" I said quickly, conscious of a tremor in my voice.  
"I certainly hope so, for all our sakes," Meg said. "If he has any instinct for self-preservation, that's exactly what he'll have done at the first possible opportunity. If he stays here he'll be recognized and arrested in a heartbeat."

"Yes, I suppose he would be." I paused. "I don't suppose you have any idea where he might have gone?"

"Don't worry- I'm sure he isn't anywhere near here. Maman thinks he'll have gone to Prussia. She thinks the French police won't be willing to sink to negotiating with the filthy Prussians just to get one masked lunatic back. I certainly wouldn't. He isn't worth the trouble."  
"Prussia- that is what I thought as well," I said. "But what I meant to ask was, might your mother have some idea how to communicate with him?"  
Meg stared at me in alarm. "What?"  
"I just need to ask him a question," I said. "Surely there can be no harm in that. It can be accomplished from a distance."  
"What do you need to talk to him about?" she said, looking at me with deep concern. "I don't understand."

 **End of Chapter 7. Thank you!**  
 _  
_


	8. Chapter 8

Though I explained everything as well as I could, Meg did not appear satisfied.

"You're free from him," she said. "We'd almost given up hope that you would ever be free from him, and now finally you are. Why would you risk that? And you have a good position - one that gives you independence! Most girls would be willing to commit murder for that. Why would you want to throw it away to go running off with your head in the clouds?"

"If I have a gift for music, then I should use it," I said. "And as far as the ghost is concerned... I want an explanation. He owes me that, surely. I want to know the truth behind what happened between us in the opera house, and I have realized there are pieces of that story that only he can give me."

Meg shook her head. "I always said you were too curious."

 _Chapter 8 to be continued very soon._

 _CONTINUED (updated Jan 8, 2016):_

"What do you mean?" I demanded.

"You let yourself believe an angel of music had come to earth to teach you," she said. "You would have followed him anywhere. And look where it got you."

"I was a child when I first heard him," I defended myself. "And even years later, I was still heartbroken from the death of my father! I needed something to believe in."

"But you are older now," she said. "You have healed somewhat. I would have hoped you wouldn't want to go looking for the ghost again."

"I don't," I said. "And I certainly don't believe he is an angel anymore. All I want is to know how he gained such a hold over me. Whether I was merely his puppet or if I truly have talent of my own. Whether music is truly my gift, whether it would be sensible to pursue it." Well, that was a lie, really- what I wanted was to hear that I could be a singer. I wasn't sure how I would face life if I couldn't. But it was a risk I would have to take.

Meg reflected. "If it happens that you can't have music without _him,"_ she said at last, "Then will you give this affair up? Will you promise me you'll try to lead an ordinary life? You have so much- I don't want you to lose everything again."

"Yes," I promised her, though to me the prospect of an 'ordinary' life sounded like death. "I just need to know the truth, one way or the other."

"Very well," Meg said at last. "If this is what it takes to set you free from this whole wretched affair, then so be it. Perhaps you should write to Maman and ask her, after all."

I smiled. "Has it occurred to you that I don't need your permission?"

She set her mouth into a firm line. "You may not. But don't ever try to get past me, kitten. You won't succeed."

Something in her expression reminded me of a previous conversation we had had.

Meg had been angry and suspicious when I told her I'd been given lessons by an angel of music. She'd been furious that I hadn't told her, claiming fear for my safety. In fact, the reason I had hidden the matter from her for as long as I did was because I'd worried she wouldn't believe me. She'd reacted to the announcement just as I'd expected.

The whole affair had nearly wrecked our friendship. Raoul had said she was jealous. Even the 'angel' had said she wasn't like me, that she wasn't capable of envisaging higher things. He may have been right. She and I were indeed strikingly different. Her sense and frankness balanced out my chaotic dreaminess.

People viewed ballerinas as ethereal sylphs, and given Meg's beauty they invariably approached her expecting to find just that, but it couldn't have been farther from the truth in her case. She was brusque and stalwart, forthright and hard to deceive. Though she said her prayers every day, in my place she would never have believed for a moment that an angel had been sent to her from Heaven. She probably would have reported 'the voice' to the police if I hadn't begged her not to. There was nothing mystical about Meg, no wild yearning for the great unknown. But we loved each other. She guarded me as fiercely as a wolf.

But would she be angry if I did pursue... loftier realms? Would she feel left behind?

"Meg," I said, "It isn't because of the music that you're concerned, is it? If I can keep singing, will you be unhappy?"

Her face changed. Suddenly she threw her arms around me- something Parisians rarely did. "Oh, Christine," she said, "There's nothing I'd love better."

Though I couldn't see her face, I could hear in her voice that she meant every word.

"Thank you," I said.

She pulled away and looked into my eyes, smiling. Her own eyes were twinkling. "I thought you said you don't need my permission?" she said teasingly.  
"I don't," I insisted stoutly. "I am a good deal more stubborn than you may realize. But nonetheless I would be glad to know I have your approval. Your opinion matters more than almost anyone's." I paused. "Yes, more than anyone's. You know I have the utmost regard for you."

"That is dear of you," she said. "I feel the same toward you. Although, a word of advice- I think my mother is a good deal wiser than I am. You ought to listen to her first."

I smiled. "I mean to write to her today. This very hour, in fact."

"Good. Then let us see what dear Madame Giry has to say upon the subject," Meg said wryly. "I shall await the good lady's reply with interest."

I giggled. When I looked up at Meg a moment later, however, I found that her expression had changed. "Christine," she said, all the laughter gone from her voice, "You must promise me you will be careful."

"I give you my word," I promised her.

 _End of Chapter 8. Thank you! Chapter 9 coming soon._


	9. Chapter 9

I was desperate to speak to Madame Giry. But I'd thought it unwise to discuss anything to do with Erik over the phone or in a letter. While I had no reason to believe anyone was actively looking for him, I never knew when a nosy neighbor might be listening on the line or my intrusive landlady was snooping through my correspondence. And I couldn't risk anyone, even if they knew nothing of the events at the opera, overhearing that he was alive.

On the other hand, I certainly couldn't summon Madame Giry to Paris just to answer my question. Therefore, the only solution that remained was for me to go see her. When the ribbon-shop announced one weekend that they were giving me an extra half-day off, I wrote her ask if I could come stay the night with her in Bourgogne (which was where she really lived; Meg, a true Parisian, dismissively referred to every bit of France outside the capital as 'Provence', but that was inaccurate). She happily accepted. Therefore, that Friday evening I found myself on a train bound for Beaujeu-Saint-Joseph-en-Bouzement-German-et-Issy, the charmingly named town where the good lady now lived.

Raoul would have been appalled to hear that I had undertaken such an expedition without any companion. But I found that I liked traveling by myself. Without being obliged to entertain anyone else, I could divide my time as I pleased between perusing the book I'd brought along and gazing out the window. The journey passed pleasantly, and I was amazed how quickly we seemed to arrive in Beaujeu-Saint-Joseph-en-Bouzement-German-et-Issy.

The town proved to be enviably scenic - Madame Giry had chosen well. Its inhabitants showed the friendliness and courtesy that one comes to associate with small towns- in fact, it reminded me a little of the village where I grew up- but it was populous enough that they were not over-inquisitive about my presence there. In terms of size, in fact, it seemed a perfect place to accomplish a clandestine errand like this- it was small and obscure enough that if anyone were looking for me and did not know where I had gone, they would not think to search here, but large enough that if someone were looking for me here, they would have a hard time finding me. It crossed my mind, in fact, that that may have been precisely why Madame Giry had chosen to settle here.

Her cottage, situated on the edge of the town, was every bit as handsome and well-appointed as Meg had said. Madame Giry was delighted to see me and to have the chance to show it off to a guest. We passed the first part of the evening reminiscing contentedly. Looking around, I could not help feeling pleased with how well my errand had gone thus far, and proud of myself for taking matters in my own hands.

Beyond that, however, my good fortune ended.

"Madame Giry," I ventured at last- I'd specifically calculated to wait until we'd both had a glass of wine or two- "There is something I must discuss with you."

Her face, which until then had looked relaxed and content, assumed a more guarded look. "What is it?" she said, though I suspected by her expression that she already suspected.

"I feel bound to tell you I have become aware of your connection to the ghost."

She stared at me, no longer able to hide her alarm.

"I know that you were the one who helped him hide in the opera house," I said. "And that you helped him for years after that."

"Where did you learn this from?" she asked weakly as soon as she could speak.

I felt it would be better for Meg if I admitted it instead of trying to hide it. "Meg- but you must not blame her. She didn't want to tell me, but I insisted."

She nodded, understanding. "It isn't easy to get Meg to do anything she doesn't want to do," she observed wryly. "You must have been determined."

I smiled.

"What exactly did she say?"

"She told me that you rescued him, and kept his secret for years. And..." I treaded carefully, for this was the reason I had come. "I... assume you helped him after he left the opera."

"One part of what you have just said is not true." Madame Giry's face suddenly hardened, and her voice grew colder than I had ever heard it be before. "I have not helped him since he kidnapped you. I refuse to. I will never do him any favors again. He has irrevocably lost my favor." To my alarm, tears filled her eyes. "I'm so ashamed...If I had told you sooner none of that wretched madness could have happened... Oh, my dear... can you ever forgive me?"

I rushed to embrace her. "Of course I can. I forgave you long ago. You are not responsible for Erik's actions."

"But I could have done more to stop him."

I could see further reassurance was necessary. "I understand why you did not want to tell anyone. In your place, I would hardly have known what to do. You had a dilemma; you did not want either of us to be hurt. You tried to do the right thing and help him, and he betrayed your trust in a dreadful way - that was not your doing."

Eventually she stopped crying and I felt it was safe to resume my seat.

"There is only one thing I do not understand," I said carefully, not wanting to upset her more.

"What is that?" she asked timidly.

"Why you did not tell me any of this afterwards, once he was gone. Why you still wanted to keep your connection to him secret, even now. Why did you... avoid the subject when we were on the train?"

She swallowed. "That's just it," she said. "I have more to be ashamed of than you realize. My hiding him isn't the whole story. His... behavior was more my fault that you realize."

"I don't understand."

"He came to me," she said, "Before it all started. He confided in me. He said he was in love with you but you would never accept him and that was why he would never tell you and would be your angel forever."

My mind was reeling. "What was your reply?"

"I said that if he wanted to woo you, he had to do it honestly." She swallowed. "I told him he should tell you the truth, that he was just a man. And he listened to me and did that... or he tried to, anyway. But he went about it all the wrong way."

"Oh, yes." I smiled sadly.

"I fear that is my fault," she said.

"Why?"

"I was the only person he could turn to for guidance. I should have helped him more. Perhaps I could have stopped him from behaving in a way that hurt you and so many others."

"Again, you are not responsible for Erik's actions," I insisted. "You were under no obligation to guide him. And there is no indication that you could have prevented him from acting as he did."

"Thank you, my dear." She paused. "But be that as it may I feel I must do everything in my power to protect you now, after I failed to protect you before. That is the other reason why I kept all this concealed from you. I feared it might hurt you more."

I saw an opportunity. "If you wish to protect me, then I know you will help me," I said.

"How can I help you?" she asked.

"I need to contact Erik."  
She stared. "I do not think that would help you at all. Think of the risk. The last time you went near him he nearly killed us all."

"I remember," I said.

"What do you want to say to him?" she asked.

"We parted on very bad terms. There are some concerns I never had the chance to address. If I cannot resolve them, I will never truly be free from him." I explained my fears about my voice, reminding her of the conversation we had had on the train.

"And if he tells you that you cannot sing without him, what then? Will you be able to give up music?"

I could see she feared that Erik would say I could not sing without him - whether it was true or not- and use music to lure me back to him. The suggestion that I would succumb to such machinations angered me - although if I were honest with myself, the reason it angered me was because I feared it might be true.

"How would you bear the thought of giving it up and having a dull ordinary existence?" she said.

"It would be agony, but do you think remaining in ignorance is better?" I said.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"And consider- what if I can sing without him?" I added. "Think of that. I must risk hearing the bad news in order to have a chance of hearing the good. I am willing to risk it. Madame, please tell me- do you know of any way I might contact him?"

She swallowed. "My dear, even if I wished to, I am not sure it is possible."

"But if it were?" I insisted.

She thought for a very long time. "I may be able to contact him," she said at last.

"Oh, Madame! If I could only-"

"It is only a possibility," she hastened to add. "I cannot promise success. And if I do succeed in reaching him, you must promise to be careful! But on the whole, I think it would probably be safe to try to ask him your question."

"On the whole?" I said.

She pursed her lips. "I have but one other concern- and this one you should consider seriously."

"I will," I promised. "What is it?"

"If Erik learns that you are resuming your singing career, he may realize that you are no longer engaged to Monsieur le Vicomte."

I swallowed. I hadn't thought of that. But of course, she was right. Raoul and his family would never have let me become a singer. Erik knew that, assuredly. It was, I believed, part of why he had been so upset by our engagement. I sometimes believed he had been more insulted by my turning my back on music than he had been by my rejecting him.

"If he did not guess, I would of course endeavor to conceal it from him," Madame Giry went on. "But I cannot promise you I would have any success- as you know, he is hard to deceive. Do you want to risk him knowing that you are alone?"

I thought for a long time. "He is bound to find out eventually," I said at last. "He will hear that Raoul has... married someone else." I choked out the words. "Some grand aristocrat, or maybe even royalty. A wedding like that will be in all the papers. Soon everyone will know about my humiliation. I cannot expect that Erik will be any exception."

Madame Giry was silent for a long time. "Very well," she said at last. "You may leave a letter for him with me. I will try to contact him for you."

"Thank you," I said.

She held up a hand. "But I will not do so while you are here. You must go back to Paris first. And I want to see what you write. And above all, you must be careful!"

"I have nothing to hide from you." I swallowed. "What do you imagine I would write? Do you really think me so foolish as to let him know where I am, or try to find him?"

"Oh, my dear," she said, "It isn't you I don't trust. It's him."

 _A few days later; Madame Giry's point of view_

Madame Giry knew that after Erik's forays around Europe in the few weeks after he left the opera house, he had indeed settled in Prussia. East Prussia, or Ostpreußen- as far from France as it was possible to be. On the whole, he felt safe there. The Prussians, he'd told her, didn't seem to care what anyone had done in France. In fact, nearly every man seemed to have a secret of something dreadful they had done in Paris in the war in 1870.

It had been simple enough (although painfully time-consuming) for her to write to every major newspaper in Ostpreußen and place a brief advertisement in the back of each.

Since it was in French, she didn't have much fear of prying Prussian eyes. Most readers, she reasoned, would simply skip over it. And if for some reason their attention was drawn to it, well, it was fairly cryptic.

 _To Erik: Tell me how to contact you. Emergency. R.G._

A few days later, a note containing nothing but a telephone number, a date, and a time, appeared among her mail. She made sure to be present. Wherever Erik was, she knew he wouldn't stay in the same place long. She couldn't afford to miss this opportunity to speak to him.

Swathed in an ancient heliotrope dressing gown, she hovered by the receiver and snatched it up the moment her clock showed the correct time.

He answered at once. She was surprised by the relief she felt when she heard his voice. She was still so angry with him about kidnapping poor Christine that she hadn't realized she was concerned for him at the same time.

"Could anyone be listening on the line?" she asked him anxiously, after they had engaged brief, awkward greetings.

"Since it is four o'clock in the morning, I doubt that very much," he said. She could hear his anxiety and impatience. "I assure you, I took every possible precaution."

"You don't need to tell me what time it is," she said tiredly. "I assure you, I am aware." She stifled a yawn and thought vaguely of coffee. "If it is necessary to speak at this hour, then so be it, but kindly don't waste my time."

Erik's voice, by contrast, was full of nervous energy. "Tell me, what is the emergency?" he demanded. "What has happened? Are you well? And... Christine?"

"Yes. We are all well. But something serious has happened."

"What is it?" he asked.

"She wants to resume a singing career, which is what I wish to speak to you about."

"I am glad," he said at last. Though the words were simple, even terse, his voice reflected an overwhelming happiness. "The world will not be deprived of her art." Even in the midst of his agony, he could not help reverting for a moment to his original role of vocal coach. "Make sure you tell her to find an instructor who is well-versed in bel canto technique. I, for reasons which I think are evident, cannot teach her anymore." At last he recollected himself. "But what is the emergency, Madame?"

"I must explain." Madame Giry read him the explanation Christine had written down for her.

 _CHAPTER 9 TO BE CONTINUED VERY SOON. Thank you._

 _How did you enable me to sing the way I did? How did you take a little Swedish peasant girl and turn her into a great soprano? Raoul suspects you put some sort of spell on me or mesmerized me. When he explained his reasons for believing so, I confess I begin to share his suspicions. People can be mesmerized into doing all manner of improbable things. It seems more likely to me that this happened than that I could really be as gifted as everyone thought. Tell me the truth:_ _Was it all a deception, the result of some diabolical manipulation? Or do I have a chance?_

"What?" Erik cried. "That is utterly absurd!"

"It is?" Madame Giry said.  
"Yes!"  
"Christine really sang the way she did on her own merit?" Madame Giry said, ashamed to realize that she was feeling slightly incredulous. "Hitting high A-sharp's? High B's?" A feat like that was next door to learning how to fly. No wonder some people thought there had been something supernatural about it.  
"Of course she did," Erik said. "Her voice is... magical. Divine." The adoration and worship in his voice were almost palpable. "All I did was show her what she was capable of. I showed her how to find gold, but the gold she found is entirely her own." *

"Well," Madame Giry said, "She believed the Vicomte."

"That ignorant simpleton," he fumed. "What does he know about music- about anything? How dare he spread such lies? How dare he poison her mind, make her doubt her art?"

"You must not forget 'that ignorant simpleton' loves her," Madame Giry said tightly. "He wants what is best for her. And she loves him- she'd believe anything he says. The poor girl. She's quite forgotten her voice."

"What do you wish me to do about it?" Erik asked. "She will not have anything to do with me. Sensible girl."

"She requested your help. She entrusted you with that."

"She did?" Erik asked in astonishment.

"Yes. She wants your help... _from a distance_ ," Madame Giry said pointedly.

"You insult me, Madame," Erik said. "You cannot think me so arrogant as to try to approach her again."

"I don't know what to think of you anymore, Erik," she said sadly. "You betrayed my trust in the most horrible way. You betrayed all of us- Christine most of all. But I am - somewhat against my better judgment- giving you a chance to do the right thing by her. I want you to do the decent thing for a change and tell her that this notion is, as you said yourself, nonsense."

"Of course I shall," he said.

Madame Giry smiled. For some reason she'd expected this to be harder. Perhaps she'd been expecting Erik to be angry at Christine, still wanting revenge. Well, if so, she'd underestimated him. _Either that or he's very good at hiding it,_ she thought anxiously.

"I shall write to you with an explanation for her," he said. "You may forward it to her. I can put all her concerns to rest. I never put any spell on her. I never hypnotized her. You must believe that, Madame. I would never rob someone of their own will."

"And yet you threatened to kill the man she loved if she didn't stay with you!" Madame Giry's voice was like splinters of ice.

For a long moment, there was silence.

"You are right," Erik said meekly, his voice full of shame. "And I want to blow my brains out every time I think of it. Madame, I... I should leave soon. It unsafe for me to linger long in any one place. And of course, we cannot risk you being caught speaking with me."

It was a transparent attempt to get out of the conversation, but she didn't care. "Very well. You know where to reach me," she said flatly, and moved to replace the receiver.

"Madame?" Erik's voice drifted over the line the instant before she replaced it.

"What is it?"

"I have one further question. The Vicomte... he is agreeable to this ambition of hers?"

"He has not tried to stop her," Madame Giry said. She winced- it wasn't a lie exactly, but she had skirted around the exact truth with almost surgical precision, and she knew Erik would not appreciate that.

He sounded puzzled. "But the de Chagnys are one of the most old-fashioned families in the country."

"Nonetheless," Madame Giry said anxiously. She gave a contrived shrug, then remembered he couldn't see it. Perhaps that was for the best. There had been something false about the gesture.

"Then my biggest fear is laid to rest," he said. "And the Vicomte is not so little as I believed."

"Of course he's not," she said, more sharply than she intended. "He is a good man. You misjudged him from the start, just because he was handsome and rich."

"Because he is handsome and rich and as a consequence has had everything he wanted to him handed to him his whole life!" Erik shot back. "If I were thus blessed, I would be married to Christine by now. What does he know of what it means to have to make one's own way in the world-"

Madame Giry lost her temper. "For God's sake, you have not always been left to your own devices! People did try to help you, Erik. They made tremendous sacrifices for you, and you repaid them by turning around and hurting those they cared about most! Are you quite finished?"

Erik listened in silence. "Quite, Madame," he said at last. "I shall not trouble you any further. Good night." And he quietly hung up the receiver.

Mind whirling, he tried to think of what to do next. He'd sworn to himself he would never try to contact Christine again, even if she asked him to. She deserved to be rid of his attentions. But this was truly an emergency.

At least this was one last thing he could do for her. The thought filled him with happiness and a sense of purpose he had not felt in months.

He slipped out of the dingy hotel whose telephone he had clandestinely borrowed, and slowly made his way back to his makeshift lodgings- this week, the cellars of an abandoned warehouse outside Königsberg. There, fumbling through his scant belongings, he eventually located parchment and a fountain-pen.

He tried to sketch a few letters, but the nib dug into the paper without leaving any mark- the ink was nearly frozen. Not wanting to chance the extra light of a fire- there was enough moon to see by tonight, and anything more would have been an unnecessary risk- he warmed the cartridge between his trembling hands.

At last, hunched over the paper, his breath forming clouds of steam, he began to write.

 _END OF CHAPTER 9. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Chapter 10 coming soon.  
_

* This quote is by Auguste Rodin.


	10. Chapter 10

The days after I returned from my visit with Madame Giry, awaiting a reply to my letter to Erik, were some of the most anxious of my life.

At last an envelope addressed from her was delivered to me. Spilling all my other letters onto the floor in my haste, I tore it open in an agony of anticipation. What if she was writing to say that Erik had refused to help me? I tried not to panic at the thought.

However, my fears proved to be groundless. Inside the envelope I found a sheet of parchment - the wax seal on it was broken, so Madame Giry had been snooping, but at least she'd had the decency not to conceal the fact - covered in a curious, painfully familiar childlike scrawl.

I almost staggered with relief, but soon my heart began to pound again with a new anxiety. With one hand, I groped for a chair; with the other I clutched at the paper like it was a lifeline. My eyes skimmed over the lines so fast I could barely take in the words. My fate, my whole future, what seemed like the very reason for my being, was bound up in them.

 _Christine,_ it began simply,

 _I am distressed to think of the anxiety that must have filled these past few days for you. Therefore, let me put your concerns to rest at once._ _Let me began by saying I never set out to hypnotize, or as the practice used to be called, mesmerize you._ _Though you may find this impossible to believe, I did not want to rob you of your will. I wanted you to love me, somehow, of your own volition._ _Even if I wanted to hypnotize you I could not; I lack the necessary training. But the objective of this letter is not to make you believe me. As fervently as I long to somehow regain your esteem, ultimately it does not matter what you think of me- that is your concern and yours alone.  
_

 _The main thing you must know, to answer your question, is that hypnosis is not magic. Being hypnotized cannot give anyone the ability to do anything they were not already physically capable of. Therefore, your singing the way you did_ was _only possible because your voice was inherently extraordinary. If God had not given you the ability, no scheming of mine could have changed that. All I did was make you realize what you were capable of._

 _If you wish for corroboration of this, then if I may be so presumptuous I would direct your attention to the excellent work of Dr. Hippolyte Bernheim. A psychological specialist of worldwide repute, he has devoted his career to the study of hypnosis and written extensively on the subject. His publications are available at all good scientific booksellers and no doubt can answer any further questions you may have._

 _I hereby give to you the knowledge of your greatness, which is entirely your own. You are not beholden to me in any way. Go forth and conquer the world._

 _Erik_

As I reached the second paragraph, hope exploded through me. I was so eager I could barely make it through the letter. I leapt up and ran to the tiny piano in my apartment. Too impatient to warm up first, I opened my mouth, flung my arms out wide, and sang. And suddenly there it was, as though it had never left me! My voice!- warm and alive, a vital part of me. And it was just as sweet as before. The same perfect gift I'd always had. How could I have ever doubted?

I launched into delicate scoops and trills, embroidering, inventing sweet music without words.

My voice seemed to fly around me, swooping and soaring, looping and diving like a golden bird. After pausing only briefly to warm up, I dove into the high F's and G's that Raoul and Madame Giry had thought so impossible. They came back almost immediately.

It wasn't a trick. It wasn't a sham or deception. The magic was real. The music was mine.

I felt complete for the first time in months. I wanted to jump up and down, pirouette around the apartment, even turn cartwheels.

Tears of joy poured down my cheeks.

"Thank you," I breathed, breaking off for a moment. "Thank you for my deliverance!"

It was then that it occurred to me that, in a way, Erik had let me go for a second time.

 _Chapter 10 continues here:  
_

I couldn't wait. Pausing only to fling a hat onto my head, I sprinted out of my appartement, almost forgetting to lock the door. I ran to the nearest telegraph office and dispatched a hasty telegram to the ribbon-shop, telling them I was sick. I then bolted up to the first cab I saw- though normally I was so hesitant about such things that I had to get my friends to hail them- and shouted at the driver to take me to the Paris Opera.

A few minutes later, he deposited me on the sidewalk in front of it, after extracting a truly absurd sum of money from me. Though I had seen the grand building every day for years, I always paused to look at it. Today, after so many months away, the sight particularly affected me. As I took in the lavish architecture, with its busts of famous composers, its elegantly carved stone muses, and most of all, atop the roof, its golden statue of Apollo holding aloft his lyre, I was overcome with emotion, and memories flooded over me. Not all of them were happy, and many were decidedly the opposite.

But I was determined to do what I had come here for. I quickly walked the quarter-mile to the vast structure's back entrance, which at least had the advantage of being slightly less imposing. There, I found the usual crowd of artistic hopefuls waiting for a chance to audition. They ranged from tiny five- and six-year-olds wanting a place in the ballet school - I had once been one of that number - to adults carrying cellos. There was even a man with a bassoon case. A few were unashamedly singing scales or trying out pirouettes while they waited.

Several of them stared at me. They probably recognized me from performances or the papers, for to my intense embarrassment, a photograph of me, culled from some unknown source, had appeared in what seemed like every periodical in Europe after the affair with the opera ghost. Even Raoul's influence hadn't been enough to stop the press from circulating it. I tried not to look away in discomfort as I took in people's astonished faces. I had hoped that my time away from Paris would have dimmed people's enthusiasm for my story, but now I realized that I had miscalculated and it had in fact had the opposite effect. My disappearance had only fanned the flames of their curiosity. They must be wondering why I was here, where I'd been. Heaven only knew what they thought of me.

It was all I could do not to squirm. I'd worn my favorite, plain old red hat, but I found myself wishing I'd worn one with a veil instead. That would at least have afforded some slight semblance of privacy.

Chin held high, I took my place in line, trying to look like it was perfectly normal for Christine Daae to be here, turned up out of nowhere and asking for her place in the chorus back.

 _End of Chapter 10_


	11. Chapter 11

The audition-room was just as I had remembered it. There was a desk for Monsieur Gabriel the chorus-master, and a screen for musicians to stand behind while they played.

In the corner sat a piano, with a tired-looking accompanist seated in front of it slurping a cup of coffee. Altogether it was rather spartan, not at all the sort of place one would expect to see in a great opera house. I preferred it that way. It seemed less imposing.

The astounded look on Monsieur Gabriel's face when I came in was so humorous that, no matter the outcome of the audition, I was still glad I had come and made this attempt.

"Why... Christine Daae!" he cried, leaping up so fast he nearly upset all the papers on his desk. He looked as though he was seeing a ghost. Perhaps he thought he was. "You are alive! You are at the opera!"

At the piano, the accompanist, who until that point had seemed more interested in his coffee than in anything I was doing, looked up. His face registered undisguised amazement.

"Good afternoon, Messieurs," I ventured, stifling a shy giggle.

"What are you doing here?" Gabriel managed at last.

"Monsieur, I know I have no right to, after my absence," I said shyly, "But I would like to audition for a place in the chorus again."

Gabriel tried to look as though he had recovered his composure. "Very well. And... what will you be singing for us?"

I never got to reply, for the door suddenly burst open. I jumped as none other than the famous La Carlotta sailed into the room, handsome and imperious and terrifying. "Aha! Christine Daae!" she cried. "So! It's true!"

Though I would have preferred to say silent, it was clear I had to say something. "Señora," I ventured, inclining my head in a way that I hoped seemed polite rather than severe.

Her lips curled into a very deliberate sneer. "So the Vicomte threw you over, little toad." Of course she was up to date on the news, I thought bitterly. There was no keeping anything from her. "That comes as no surprise to anyone."

I held myself straighter. I would not let her see by one look or gesture that she had struck a nerve. "He did no such thing. Monsieur de Chagny is a good man."

"Then what are you doing here after such a long absence?" she said, regarding me with a look of mingled curiosity and concern.  
"I am re-auditioning for the chorus, Madame."

She flinched. "And they are letting you?"  
"So it would seem." I glanced toward Gabriel for confirmation, but his expression offered no reassurance- no information at all, in fact.

Carlotta's gaze hardened. Her eyes, too, swung toward the chorus-master, who shivered almost imperceptibly under her gaze.

"Monsieur," she barked at last, "I would speak to you for a moment." She jerked her head toward the door.

Gabriel left his seat at his desk and crept out after her like a nervous puppy. She slammed the door behind them.

The accompanist and I regarded each other in silent trepidation.

"I'm sorry for the delay," I said.

He shrugged phlegmatically, still staring at me.

Even though the closed door, I could hear raised voices- well, their voices, at any rate; only Carlotta's was raised- from the passage outside.

"The little toad can sneak back here after being away for months, but it appears no one cares- she can do what she likes because she was sleeping with the patron!"

"But Signora, we have not even-"

"-Notice, I might add, that de Chagny hasn't been back _here_ since she ran off! - What has the girl been doing to him?"

"Signora-" Gabriel began bravely-

"-You know, I still say there was no 'ghost'. She was the ghost!" Carlotta roared. "It's obvious! Who could be so slavishly devoted to Christine Daae's ambitions... but Christine Daae? It's obvious. And yet you want her back here?"

Though her allegations outraged me, I couldn't blame her for being angry. I would have been thinking many of the same things in her position.

"-Well," Gabriel ventured, "We haven't had any suspicious incidents, or any serious incidents at all really, in six months-"

So Erik really was keeping his promise to leave blackmailing and extortion behind. And I was safe from him here. I couldn't decide which thought made me happier. A smile spread over my face. I wanted my place back at the Opéra more than ever. I was determined to get it.

"-Exactly the amount of time since she left!" Carlotta helpfully pointed out.

I could practically see Gabriel shaking. "Signora," he stammered, "This is out of my hands. If you would be so good as to let me find the acting-manager...?"

"Hmph!" Carlotta said.

That was invitation enough for Gabriel. I heard him walk swiftly away, and silently congratulated him on his escape.

I could hear Carlotta pacing around in the passage outside as she waited for him to return. After about five minutes, however, I heard her swear a foreign oath - which, if my limited Spanish serves me, had something to do with the supposed laziness and uselessness of the French, and chorus-directors in particular - and storm off, no doubt looking for someone else to torture.

Eventually the door opened again and Gabriel came through with the acting-manager, Monsieur Mercier.

He was a taller and larger man than the chorus-director, and presented an altogether different picture- more suave and more self-assured, ostentatiously dressed in the latest fashions.

When he saw me, he held up his tortoiseshell-rimmed monocle and stared through it for several seconds, though I suspected him of exaggerating his surprise slightly for dramatic effect, as he was wont to do with all his gestures. "Well, I'll be damned!" he said heartily. "Christine Daae! Er- good afternoon. Have you come back to sing here again?"

"Good afternoon, Monsieur. I hope to, if that is agreeable to you and Monsieur Gabriel."

"Well, this is excellent!" he cried, rubbing his hands together. "I've been hoping you would turn up! The public has been clamoring for news of you ever since you left, you know. Having the, ahem, 'ghost' carry you off was a stroke of genius."

"But... I didn't have him carry me off."

"Of course. We'll say no more." He winked. "Where have you been all this time, by the way?"

"I shouldn't say-"

"-Off with the ghost, I suppose?" He guffawed.

"No," I said quietly.

"Well, it doesn't matter. If it gets as much publicity as that affair did, I don't care what you do. You could have paraded a herd of elephants through the opera house for all I care. With your name on the posters, we'll have a full house every night."

I stifled a groan. "Monsieur, I do wish to make one thing clear. I want you to know that I did not write those dreadful letters or blackmail this company for money. I certainly did not cause the chandelier to fall. And I did not sabotage La Carlotta's voice. I would never do that to a fellow-artist."

"I don't think anyone ever suspected that you did," he said. "Some people thought it was your supporters, but no one ever believed you could have done those things yourself. Anyone aside from Carlotta, that is. And you can't expect a great diva to be reasonable. Forgive me. I mean no offense," he added, gesturing to me.

"I take no offense. I am not a great diva." I smiled.

"Well, then you had better watch yourself, because if you're not careful, you could turn into one. Very easily."

I felt my eyes widen at this unexpected praise.

Apparently Gabriel also felt that Mercier was getting ahead of himself, for he chose that moment to cut in. "Have you been training while you've been away, Mademoiselle?" he asked pointedly.  
"No," I admitted sheepishly. "I've been practicing, but I have not had an instructor." Feeling the need to excuse myself, I added shyly, "I thought I was going to be married to Monsieur le Vicomte."

As I expected, this did not elicit sympathy from either of them. To their credit, however, they did not press me for details. I appreciated their discretion, even if, as I suspected, it was meant more for Raoul's sake than for my own.

"I see," Gabriel said awkwardly.

"Well, then," Mercier said.

Gabriel turned to Mercier. "She will need a great deal of practice to regain her former skill," he said severely to Mercier. "These things don't happen overnight, you know. You can't just put her up on the stage tomorrow and expect a quality of singing worthy of the Paris Opera."

"Oh, I don't know," Mercier said. "Let's have her sing something and see for ourselves. Here, Daae, sing a - what do you call it? - a C major scale."

I clearly saw Gabriel roll his eyes, and I could not blame him. This was nothing like a proper audition. It was a travesty.

Still, I couldn't defy the acting-manager of the Paris Opera. I obliged, pulling the first note out of the air- I felt that to have asked the accompanist to play it would have looked amateurish- and praying that my notion of pitch was still accurate.

I sang a few more scales, and at the end, I glanced not toward Mercier, but toward the chorus-master, who, to my relief, condescended to nod his approval.

"Charming," Mercier said. "Good enough as far as I'm concerned. I may not know music, but it's certainly good enough for the kind of audience we get here. You can start tomorrow."

I looked toward Gabriel. He shrugged as if to say "What can I do?"  
I turned back to Mercier, ecstatic. I had never expected things to go this smoothly. I suppose when money, or the thought of it, is involved, things happen much more quickly.

"And once you have trained with an instructor for a few weeks," Mercier said, "If Gabriel gives his approval, you can start understudying La Carlotta again."

"She won't like that," Gabriel muttered.

"I confess I don't mind upsetting her a little." Mercier grinned, but then added in half-voice, "But don't either of you tell her I said that."

"I assure you, she won't hear it from me," I promised.

Mercier allowed himself one final brief smile and then quickly resumed his usual businesslike expression. "Now, ahem, I suppose you remember all the rules and everything, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"You must be signed in a half an hour before rehearsals," Gabriel said. "A full half-hour, mind. If you are early, you ae on time; if you are on time, you are late; and if you are late, I shall kill you. And see that you are already warmed up when you arrive. I shall have a copy of the music delivered to you; see that you look it over and have it with you when you arrive tomorrow."

"Yes, Monsieur."

"Well then," Mercier said. "This has been most satisfactory. Shall I show you to the door?"

"I thank you, but I think I should like to remain for a few minutes. I should like to speak with some of my old friends, if they are here."

"Just as you please," Mercier said. And he went out.

Still, I hung back for a moment. "Monsieur Gabriel?" I said timidly, before the chorus-master could call the next number.

He looked at me inquisitively. "Mademoiselle?"  
"Notwithstanding my, er, immense respect for Monsieur Mercier, I do not want to force my way back into the company if I do not deserve it. The artistic quality of this company is of the utmost importance to me." I hesitated.

He nodded graciously. "Go on."

"Forgive me if this seems impertinent, but... your acceptance of me isn't just because of the scandal, is it? Because Monsieur Mercier has encouraged you to re-hire me? Would you still want me to sing here if it wasn't for the publicity?"  
At last he smiled. "Of course I would. You could benefit from further training, it is true, and I might not agree with re-commencing your career as rapidly as Monsieur Mercier has planned- but I can see you are the same artist you always were. La Carlotta has a fine instrument, but your gifts are truly remarkable. I cannot tell you what a delight it is to have you back."

 _End of Chapter 11_


	12. Chapter 12

My technique came back faster than any of us expected.

By next month, I was ready to sing what had become my signature aria, the jail song from _Faust_ , at a gala evening. It was an extraordinary thrill to be immersed in such splendid music again.

 _Anges purs, Anges radieux!_ I sang as I came to the crescendo, _Portez mon âme au sein des cieux!_ *

(*Pure angels, radiant angels! Carry my soul into the heavens!)

I believe everyone feared that when I sang those words, I would disappear again, just like the last time I had sung in _Faust_. But when those soaring notes died away, I realized with a feeling of giddy relief that I was still safely on the stage.

At that moment, I felt I had been reborn. Not only I had returned to music, but I was free from the ghost's tyranny, free from fear. I sang the final soaring notes of Marguerite's aria in a transport of delight.

The applause that night was thunderous.

After that, my career rose swiftly.

That month I was given the starring role of Violetta in _La Traviata_. I found out later to my horror that they had told La Carlotta - rather brutally, I thought - that she was too old to convincingly play the role. It seemed to me horribly unfair for her, since one's voice does not fully mature until one is thirty, and she wasn't even fifty yet. It made for a very narrow window in which to accomplish a great deal.

Would they do the same to me, I wondered, in twenty years?

In addition, my own voice was not yet mature enough to sing _La Traviata_ for a full run - I certainly didn't feel equal to it vocally without the angel's expert guidance. They would undoubtedly have to call in an understudy at some point. And I was a lyric coloratura, rather than a dramatic coloratura, as the role called for. The ghost, too, had once pressed me into a performance, but at least he had been more judicious in his choice of role - Marguerite in _Faust_ had been suited to my voice in a way that Violetta decidedly was not.

But no one objected. Somehow I made it through the run- having had to call on an understudy only a handful of times- and I was slated for still more roles.

The opera house staged _Hamlet_ by Ambroise Thomas and I played Ophelia. People said I was perfect for the role of the Danish maiden; they seemed to be laboring under the bewilderingly common impression that Sweden and Denmark were not noticeably separate countries.

As the seasons went on I had the privilege of singing some of the finest music ever written. I was Elvira in _I Puritani_. Juliette in _Romeo et Juliette_. I was given the title role in _Lakmé_ , one of my favorites, with the lush Flower Duet at the opening and its exquisite, soaring, glittering Bell Song in Act II.

I even sang Mozart's unforgettable Queen of the Night, with a gleaming crescent moon affixed to my brow and a diadem of silver stars nestled amid my curls.  
Technically I should not have been singing the Queen, a role also meant for a dramatic coloratura. But again no one seemed to mind as long as I was filling seats. The angel would have been appalled. I wished the he were there- not the ghost, but the angel who sadly did not exist. When he'd taught me, he hadn't been afraid to tell me of my mistakes. I had other instructors, but none who understood my voice quite as he had.

But the years went by and I continued to practice devoutly. I passed twenty-five and slowly I began to believe in my voice, as it finally began to take on weight and fullness and began to resemble the fully-realized instrument I hoped it would become. My powers heightened. I did things that most believed impossible. There were rumors that I had sold my soul. I found them flattering.

It seems unbecoming to dwell on the accolades I received, especially since I believe I did not deserve most of them. However, I do not wish to appear ungrateful by refusing to acknowledge them.

One glittering evening, I looked up into the boxes and saw a distinguished-looking man with a well-cut beard applauding me. When I left the stage after ten curtain calls, Meg rushed up to me. "Do you know who that was?" she cried, grabbing my arm. "The man in the first box?"

"Who?" I said.

Her eyes seemed to have grown to twice their usual size. "That's Président Grévy! And in the box across from him is the Comte de Paris- Prince Philippe! The pretender to the throne!"

It was at about that time that I began to be asked to appear at other opera houses - first around Paris, then throughout France, then all over the Continent.

I received the first of what would be many invitations to sing in the Kungliga Operan in Stockholm. When I arrived back in my own beloved Sweden for the first time in over a decade, I was greeted by a chorus of children singing our beautiful national anthem. It moved me to tears. I resolved to go back there, now that I had the means, as often as possible. I even contemplated moving there permanently - I was still regarded as a foreigner in Paris (even though people told me I was becoming something of a national symbol to France), and aside from Meg, who had married her baron (he, unlike Raoul, had no parents to dictate his movements) and had her own family and her own concerns now, there was no longer anything or anyone to keep me there.

However, my career was taking me to so many extraordinary localities that I could not wish to settle permanently in one place yet, even one I loved so much. I wanted to seize every opportunity.

I took the stage in Prague, at the splendid National Theater with its fine view of the river. At the grand new opera house in Budapest.  
In London, at the Royal Opera.

In Rome, in the splendid new Teatro Costanzi, with its near-perfect acoustics.

In La Fenice- the Phoenix- the magnificent theatre in Venice, curiously small from the exterior but immense and palatial inside.

Crossing the Atlantic, I sang in San Francisco. Rio de Janeiro. Buenos Aires. New York. To my amazement, I was invited to appear in St. Petersburg, and at the Bolshoi in Moscow.

There remained only La Scala, mecca of musical achievement, and I would everything I wished for. Well, almost everything.

However, several cities never made it onto my itinerary. The major opera houses of Berlin and Frankfurt begged me to appear- as did many other minor companies in Prussia - but I was nervous to go to that country. For years I had always managed to contrive to be engaged somewhere else at exactly the times when they wanted me. Thus I had managed to go over five years without it looking like I was deliberately avoiding the Prussians. This was fortune, for such a slight by a French national icon, so soon after the great war between those two countries, might well have caused political tension.

There were so many other places to go that it didn't look like I was slighting anyone. But I was - and I regretted it. I had no reason to hate Prussia as the French did, and I would be sorry indeed if I let my last lingering fears about Erik prevent me from seeing such a vast and splendid country.  
At last, I managed to get over my superstitious fears. After ten years, I took my first position as an artist-in-residence away from Paris. I accepted a six-month contract at the Staatsoper Berlin.

 _End of Chapter 12_

 **IMPORTANT NOTE:**

 _I've accomplished some major goals! I got Christine away from Raoul (and for the record, I will always hate them as a couple, although Raoul is a mostly decent guy, if a bit lacking in personal depth) without going against their characters (as I perceive them) or sacrificing historical accuracy. And I got Christine back to her singing career, which I was determined to do. (One of the most depressing parts of POTO is the thought of Christine giving up her music career, which, as I have established, she would have had to do if she wanted to marry into a family like Raoul's.)_

 _I was excited to keep going with this story. But I've hit a wall. Let me explain...  
_

 _I love E/C's chemistry. I shipped them for years. But this month I had a crisis of conscience about them that I'd been putting off for far too long. To make a long story short, I've come to the conclusion that it's not okay to ship them after the way Erik treated Christine in poto, especially in Final Lair. I think it's fairly self-explanatory why this is. BUT WAIT! DON'T GO! THAT'S NOT IT! The next chapter, Chapter 13, will be a summary of the ending I was going to write, because I don't want to leave you, my dear readers, hanging. (_ I WILL ALSO BE WRITING ANOTHER E/C PHANPHIC, CALLED 'The Angel Descends', WHERE ERIK DECIDES TO DO THE RIGHT THING AND TELL CHRISTINE THE TRUTH ABOUT HIMSELF BACK AT THE BEGINNING OF THE STORY, LONG BEFORE HE DID ANY OF THAT HORRIBLE STUFF. I AM INFINITELY MORE COMFORTABLE WITH THE IDEA OF THEM BEING TOGETHER UNDER THOSE CIRCUMSTANCES _.) But I simply cannot finish writing that ending because I feel it wouldn't be right to put Erik and Christine back together after the circumstances at the end of POTO. I am so sorry for any frustration this may cause. If this decision piques your curiosity (or your rage), my full explanation is below. However, you are by no means obligated to read it, and are welcome to skip to the next chapter._

 _If you do decide to go on..._

 _FULL EXPLANATION: For nearly ten years I was the world's most diehard (or Daaehard?) Christine and Erik shipper. Their connection is indescribably powerful. Heck, I just wrote a hundreds-of-thousands-of-words-long separating Christine from the Vicomte. I think that goes to show what a huge part of my life Phantom is. I sympathize intensely with Erik and identify with Christine to an unsettling extent.  
_

 _And thus, this phic started out as a determined attempt to get them back together. But as I worked away at it, I had to deal with some moral questions about their relationship. As I did, it hit me with undeniable certainty that shipping E+C after he lied to her, kidnapped her, and threatened to kill her fiancé if she didn't marry him, is not morally supportable. In real life, in the same situation I would NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER recommend that a person go back to a partner who had treated them that way, under ANY circumstances. So there's no good reason to advocate for it here. Why? Well, people take their cues from fiction a lot of the time. I know I do._

 _It is true, admittedly, that I have control over the characters and can make them do as I wish. I can, if I please, make Erik into an exceptional human being and awesome boyfriend/husband/whatever in this version. But the idea of doing that makes me uncomfortable for two reasons:_

 _1\. Even if_ I _know he's going to behave perfectly (because I can make him behave perfectly), how does Christine know? Answer: She doesn't. It's impossible for her to know that, no matter how much she might wish to believe it. So what possible justification could I offer for her going back to him? S_ _he can never be sure that it's safe for her to go back to him. And for that matter, I'm convinced she knows that. If I had her go back to him, I would be making her act against her instincts of self-preservation for no good reason, which would be sloppy writing. If I had her go back to him_ _and they lived happily ever after, I would be glorifying a situation that put her in potential danger, which would be wrong.  
_

 _2\. On that note, making him into a phenomenal boyfriend/husband in the story could create the impression that I think that someone's real-life abuser will someday turn into their perfect boyfriend (or girlfriend, for that matter). And obviously that's not a valid message to be sending. Yes, Erik's circumstances are quite unique. But even if an abuser has had a truly hellish life as Erik did, their victim still shouldn't be encouraged to go back to them.  
_

 _For the record, I DO NOT want Erik (particularly the movie Erik, and to a lesser extent the musical and Leroux versions) to die or spend the rest of his life alone, or in prison, or anything like that. Despite how lucidly I am able to examine his actions, I do care about him. And I am decidedly in favor of musical-and-movie-Erik having a second chance at love (albeit only after he's had_ years _to get some therapy, or find God or whatever people did back then, and rehabilitate). It just shouldn't be with Christine. Yes, s_ _he would undoubtedly miss their connection for the rest of her life. Most likely, no one else will be able to connect with her as deeply as he did. And that sucks bigtime for both of them (especially her, because it's his fault that things, to put it mildly, didn't work out). But he has lost the right to her trust. She doesn't owe him anything (except possibly a thank-you note for the free singing lessons :-P ). Again, it is not her job to stick around and try to make him a better person (and in fact if she did it probably wouldn't work, because she can't give him the kind of support he needs in order to heal.) And, to end on a hopeful note, I am convinced he does not need her to be happy.  
_

 _I want to emphasize very strongly that I did NOT go into writing this story planning to cut it off like this. I did not aim to suck people in and then go "I'm not finishing it, ha! And serves you right for shipping Erik and Christine!" (Heck, I have no right to judge anyone for shipping them because I did for years!- and still do, under some circumstances.) That is absolutely not how I operate as a writer. I would never plan to gain the reader's trust and then knowingly violate it that way. I am not *refusing* to finish this out of pedantry. I am genuinely_ unable _to_ _finish it because I literally COULD NOT come up with a reason that made sense for Christine to decide to go back to Erik. A good enough reason (for me) simply does not exist._ _This is far, far beyond writers' block, which I can muscle through. I agonized over this in the back of my mind for months and it is an unsolveable problem. So there we are._ _  
_

 _I welcome discussion about all this because a. I know I don't have all the answers and b. I think the fact that I've had to mull this over so much sho ws that the story of poto touches on some incredibly important issues._

 _Thank you to my dear readers for reading my phic and suffering through this public-service announcement. I love you all so much._


	13. Chapter 13

And now, as promised...

 _The Rest of the Story_

In Berlin, Christine realizes she is not of afraid of Erik anymore, but of herself. She decides she wants to find him. She finds some music that she believes matches his style, and hunts down the people who commissioned it. They are producing a new opera (by Erik - Christine was right about the music). She decides she wants to be in the opera; she desperately wants to sing Erik's music again. They decide having Christine Daae as a star is too good for their small company to pass up, and cast her in it without his knowledge. He doesn't find out until he walks into the theater and hears her rehearsing. He is furious with the producers for hiring her without his permission. But hearing her singing his music again moves him to tears.

Christine wants to catch up on what they've been up to for the past decade, but he insists on staying away from her because he is too scared he will hurt her again. However, she demands that he at least explain why he lied to her and said he was an angel. He explains that it was because he saw how lonely she was- like him- and felt that posing as an angel and giving her music lessons was the only thing he could do for her. He had planned for things to go on that way, and had no romantic intentions with regard to her. But when the Vicomte de Chagny showed up, he realized both that if Christine married into one of France's old families, she would have to give up her music career and singing lessons, and that he was in love with her himself. It was then that he tried to woo her, but with disastrous results, since he couldn't quite persuade himself to give up his identity as the angel, which confused her.

After this explanation, Christine realizes she is falling back in love with him. This alarms her, because she cannot trust him. Erik realizes he is still as much in love with her as ever, and for fear of hurting her stays as far away from her as possible. Then, however, one day he saves her life during an accident, and is nearly killed himself in the process. Since he cannot go to a public hospital, where he might be recognized, she takes care of him in secret.

When it becomes clear that he will survive, Christine is overjoyed, both because he is okay and because she is now certain she can trust him to do right by her. She tells Erik she is in love with him. He gives her his ring as a sign of his love but says they should not be together. She then swears she will never be with anyone else, and wears the ring secretly on a chain as a sign of her devotion. Eventually he changes his mind and declares that he loves her. She says he doesn't have to marry her because she doesn't want there to be a paper trail leading to him. But he insists that he wants to be able to do at least this one thing properly for her, since in all other respects they will never be able to have a normal life together. She accepts and they are secretly married. They buy an old, historic mansion on a fenced property- that way he can stay hidden- and together they refurbish it. He lives there unbeknownst to other people, and she tends to avoid having guests, for obvious reasons.

Meanwhile, Raoul has gotten quite happily married. But after a few years his wife dies unexpectedly. After a period of mourning he realizes he is still in love with Christine deep down. In addition, his parents are dead, so he is now free. He sets out to Berlin to find Christine and see if she's still interested in him. When Christine sees his calling card (with flowers!) has been delivered to her dressing room after a show, she asks Erik what she should do. He tells her to accept a visit from him, as not to do so would look odd. So she does just that. But when Raoul learns she is (as far as he knows) still unattached at the ancient age of thirty-one despite being pretty and rich and having had numerous offers from various wealthy suitors, he is surprised. He decides that either she is still in love with him, or is in a relationship she hasn't told him about. So when Christine turns down his advances, he decides she is probably in a relationship.

His suspicions are further aroused by the fact that the gossip columns haven't caught her with anyone lately - after all, all her prior love-affairs and suitors were obsessively reported on. He concludes (quite rightly, in fact) that if she is in a relationship, she must be going to great lengths to keep her lover a secret. (Raoul ain't stupid.) He is thus extremely worried that she has gone back to Erik.

The next day Christine sees a stranger watching the house and, putting two and two together after Raoul's prying the day before, concludes Raoul must have someone spying on her. Erik says the best thing to do is leak a rumor to the papers that the Vicomte de Chagny has been spying on his unsuitable ex-fiancée- that the resulting scandal will stop Raoul in his tracks. So Christine does just that. She also bribes the stranger a significant amount of money to leave.

The man reports back to Raoul and tells him about this. A few days later, Christine confronts Raoul. But he reveals that the man was never spying on her at all, but that he'd just paid him to linger near the house for awhile and then report back to them on how she reacted. He says he is alarmed that Christine has a secret she's willing to pay vast amounts of money and lie to newspapers to hide. Christine realizes he's outsmarted her.

A few days later Raoul reveals that he has been given special permission to bring Erik back to France to be tried for the crimes at the opera house. He changed his mind about protecting Erik because he is convinced Erik has either bewitched or coerced Christine into staying with him, and that there is no possible other way Christine could want to be with him. (In Raoul's defense, this is less because of Erik's appearance and more because of his prior behavior.)

Christine pleads with Raoul, pointing out that the trial will not be fair, but that any jury in the world would take one look at Erik and sentence him to be guillotined (fun fact: that was the official instrument of capital punishment in France until 1981! The last person guillotined in France was in 19 f******g 77. Have a nice day.) Raoul says that doesn't matter because Erik is guilty anyway. He orders Erik at gunpoint to come with him.

Erik says he would rather die there than be exposed to the public and gawked at, and that Raoul will just have to shoot him himself. Christine pleads to Erik that she will testify on his behalf. Raoul points out that the word of a foreign woman will never be believed over the word of the Comte de Chagny and her reputation and probably her career will be ruined. But she insists, trying to convince Erik to stand trial rather than be shot on the spot.

Erik does change his mind, saying he will go with Raoul as long as he promises not to hurt Christine and to leave her out of the affair and thus spare her reputation. Raoul is so astonished by this that he decides Erik truly does love Christine and has not been manipulating her. He lets them go.

Erik and Christine live peacefully in Prussia. She has a brilliant opera career and his music is published (under a pseudonym) and celebrated. Eventually they have a daughter.

 _The end._


End file.
